Short Story of the Month - March

London

By: M. Pedrosa

You wake up; open your eyes; breathe.

Look up at the slanted ceiling, then out the window at the cool gray sky lined with chimneys from neighboring homes. A million pigeons on the roofs, staring down as if the streets are a dollhouse. London weather. Stereotypically perfect.

As you awaken from the world in your cozy duvet, your feet slip into soft cotton slippers, clouds. Long, soft robe dragging along the steps of the dark wood staircase as you go to the kitchen.
Moments after, the aromatic spices of chai tea fill the atmosphere, notifying you to turn off the oven. The strawberry jam you bought at last week’s Sunday market fair tastes great over a slice of green apple.

You turn to the clock above the window, 08:56am. You had arranged to encounter your best friend once they come in from Australia at 05:10pm; just the thought of it is enough for you to promptly raise from your chair. Just imagine showing them around all the beautiful monuments and absorbing museums!

​The buzzing sounds of the airport are filled energy. You can breathe in the spirit of adventure. At this point, you can’t keep from smiling at the thought that at any moment, they would be here.
But there goes an hour,

And another,

And again.

At this point, you were slouched forwards on a chair, holding your face up with your fists. You were absolutely stagnant, waiting for them. You hear a loud ding, and a voice starts to ramble on the speakerphone:

“Flight 808 New South Wales to London has been delayed due to weather conditions. For more information, please, refer to the information desk in wing E or A”.
Ding.

You open your eyes and look up from your lap to the large glass wall at the end of the corridor to your left. It’s dark. All the lights outside are blurry with water droplets racing down the glass. You get up groggily and amble towards the window. You can hear the reticent thunderstorm, a shipwreck in a bottle.

London weather. Stereotypical.

You lie down on the bench, the cold metal seat divisors stabbing you in the back.

London weather. Stereotypical.

You begin to drift from consciousness, pitch black curtains of fatigue and exasperation cover your eyes.

London weather. Stereotypical.


You are slowly regaining awareness.

“Hello? Can I sit here?”

You try to look up at whoever, befuddled. Your bleary eyes can only discern their familiar bourbon-colored hair and tanned bronze skin.

“Are you awake? Did I spend a day in the airport to come here for nothing?”

Your brain processes these words slowly and carefully. Until, you notice. A lightning bolt sprinted by you, stealing you away from the cage of exhaustion.

“You’re here!” “Finally!”

“I’m here? You’re the one who went to London and left me in NSW! Everyone misses you. How’s everything?” That homely Australian accent. You haven’t heard it in a year.

They hand you an ecstatic smile along with a cup of coffee. You walk towards the parking lot, chattering away like a radio.

“You know, this is my favorite place in the city.”, you say as the London Eye slowly rotates in the afternoon sky. You promised to take your friend around the city today, and they had been amazed at everything, but you saved the best for last.

“Really? Why? I like the soldiers with the fluffy hats.”

“When I first moved here, I was incredibly afraid. Of everything. New laws, new school, new people.... I felt like a mannequin. I would come here everyday. Just wait for us to be at the top. Everything just seems so small, as if your problems have become tiny. As if you’re in control.”

Once at the top, the orange sunset sky was surrounding your carriage; a warm blanket during autumn. The glass screen seems to know no bounds, as if you could just walk onto the clouds. You looked down at the miniature world below, soothing and mellow.

London weather. Stereotypical.