―― It’s a Sunday afternoon in the conservatory, the air is humid and flies hum with the hum-drum of the day. His hands are sticky and sweat beads down the back of his tank-top. He sits on a two-person bench that, technically, belongs outside. Popsicle sticks are scattered on the ceramic-tiled floor, almost looking like cast runes. The humming of the flies fades in and out of the humming of the tube-television which flickers unreliably, broadcasting half-heard words, most of which aren't understandable.   

He has been left to himself again by his parents - whom, after being unable to wheedle him out from his domicile, are enjoying the Mediterranean weather of the Island without him. Even though he chose not to go with them, resentment still soils his mood as he bites idly upon one of the many popsicle sticks at his disposal.   

He felt he was too old to be going on holidays with his parents, and that was the first clue he got that his parent's motives weren't entirely to be taken at face value. The second clue was the fact that he had found out he was going on the night of the flight, his luggage already packed for him. His parents hadn't wanted to give him the chance to formulate objections, or to barricade himself in his room. They had learnt their lessons from previous years. So, while he was eating his favorite soft-scoop ice-cream at the kitchen table, defenses low, he was ambushed with the news. He still had the spoon in his hand, half-raised to his mouth twenty minutes later, as he was being buckled into the taxi.   

The whole journey was a blur, and it was about when the plane had just taken off that he finally came to himself, mouthing a feeble protest. "I-I don't want to go...", the words felt empty even to him, and he reddened as he realised he had been placed on a seat next to someone he didn't know. They were looking at him out of the corner of their eyes, but obviously trying to avoid making eye contact. In his half dressed state, wearing the pajamas he had woken up in, odd-socks, slippers, and a black raincoat over the top; he was giving off a strong 'care in the community' vibe.   

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...", he ceased trying to ease her concern as he realised that every word seemed to increase the discomfort building within her. Slumping back into the flight seat, he stared forward, wondering where his parents were sat, and why they had left him by himself. This was just like them to leave me here looking like a total idiot. Similar brooding thoughts followed and he slouched even further down into the seat.     

He was good at wasting time, he had done it his whole life. Whole days, weekends, months had been devoured by his remarkable ability to just zone out and completely lose himself. Other people used to ask him what he was doing, when they caught him staring off, but over time they had stopped asking, now he was just 'that guy' who was a bit odd. "He's a tad touched, now don't stare”, the mothers said as they hurried their curious children past.     

Stolen story; please report.

They thought he was looking at nothing, but nothing could be further from the truth. He was busy in his own internal world, which was as real to him as the seats his physical form currently occupied. However, none of this information helped ease the mind of his neighbour, who seeing him slump down into this drooling state was convinced she had discovered the reason as to why this seat had been so cheap. Of course, this was why the ticket price was so low, they knew I would be sitting next to this. 

Emilia was used to bad luck, her life seemed to be a living refutation to the idea of karmic order in the universe. Such a thesis was easily disproved through the observation of the disproportionate bad luck that had visited her life. Not that she had suffered any great tragedy, but her suffering was small and consistent. If it could go wrong, it would go wrong. Things like losing keys, stubbing your toe, deleting an important essay, locking yourself out of the house were daily occurrences for her; and now this.     

She had been supposed to meet her parents at the airport. Having been away at university, she had been looking forward to seeing them again. But now she found herself on a flight alone, next to a potentially dangerous stranger. She gripped the plastic fork she had surreptitiously hidden by her side for assurance. Let's see him try anything funny with this jammed halfway into his forehead.   

*** 

Oblivious to the threat, Kyle's attention was elsewhere. He had gone to the part of his mind that he usually went to when reality became distasteful. He looked around the low hanging room which was made from large roughly-cut slabs. Appropriately, it evoked the sense of a temple, because in a way, that was what it was. The difference being that this sacral space showed unmistakable signs of inhabitance. Contentedly, he took in the familiar carved alcoves and small cubicles, each containing signs of frequent occupation. Stepping down into the centre of the room, he leaned lightly on a hefty wooden table as he absently rifled through the papers scattered across the disordered surface. 

I’m sure i left it here? Suddenly spying it half hidden under some notes, he picked up the book he had been searching for. In the half-light it was difficult for him to read, and there were no means by which he could light the room himself. Instead, the enclosed room was illuminated by a large open hearth. Muttering to himself, Kyle clasped the book under his arm and moved into an alcove adjacent to the fireplace.   

In here he was only passingly aware of the outside world.