A small plane glided through the sky on what looked like a raccoon's dream. Shoddy, golden, and covered in rust, it rattled away in the dawn tainted clouds.

A man on this plane sat in a comfortable seat riffling through his suitcase. He had been at it for hours and only found a computer, a tablet, and a stained business card.

The plane, well… the “plane” had been flying for an hour now, and from what he could see the other passengers were having similar problems. Glancing over, he inevitably saw the woman standing one foot away from him. 

A flight attendant.

She had been chatting with the back of his head from the beginning of his panicked search. Babbling about family affairs and keeping his untasted wine glass filled. 

Combing through the bag in front of him again and ignoring the 3rd glass she’d poured and placed next to the first two, he was about ready to run.

Unbuckling his seat belt and holding the bag in hand, he attempted a breath before looking at the woman.

“Brook,” he said.

“But not as in Brooklyn like yours” he continued. Hearing the man she was talking to speak for the first time Brooklyn became pleasantly surprised. The brunette glanced back at his ticket as if to confirm the name. When she moved her gaze away, he noticed the grapes in her cart again. Fidgeting, he tried speaking.

“As rude as this sounds Mrs. Brooklyn we’ve been talking for an hour. I’d like some sleep before my next... activity, would you excuse me”? He inched in her direction as he spoke.

No response.

His body itched.

This brightly colored flight attendant hadn’t attended to anyone but him in the time he and everyone else were panicking. No, she just stood next to his seat blocking any convenient exit.

The quiet continued but when 5 seconds passed his instincts spurred him.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He stood, and shoved her, not looking at anything as he crashed into the snack cart blocking him.

He couldn’t wait.

Walking down the constantly shaking aisle he already felt his knees going weak.

‘Dodo birds fall better than this, how is this a plane? Something that bounces when the clouds graze it?!’ His breath came out fevered as he dragged his swelling body to what he assumed was a staff room. The plane taking another shaky dip as he fell through the door.

He couldn’t see anymore, tears pooled, blocking his view and making his eyes burn.

He tore the room apart, feeling for anything with the shape of a first aid kit. Eventually grabbing a case like object, he fumbled the lock with his swollen fingers, hoping for an EpiPen.

A crisp click and the clasp was opened, empty. 

He tossed the case and got up, only to be tossed onto his shoulder by some more Light turbulence.

He crumbled, his knees must have run out of adrenaline, kindly matching the time black blotches decorated his vision from lack of oxygen.

Ears ringing, he lost all strength in his body. Fainting.

A rusty creak fills the room as Ms. Brooklyn closed the door behind her, blocking the increasingly panicked shouts from the seating area. She, with a first aid kit, stepped towards the unconscious young man.

Lightly kicking his dropped bag to the side, she squatted down next to him and stabbed an EpiPen into his thigh. Causing the still shaking man to violently flinch.

Bobbing backward she took the glowing epi pen back into her kit and stood by the exit with an apologetic face. 

The young man was so polite, listening to her spill on about her “family” problems, she honestly didn’t notice him working himself up like that. 

She looked back towards him, he had passed out next to the toilet looking through his own dropped bag. Not at all surprising considering he ran into the bathroom looking for medicine. “Ha…...but it’s not his fault I should have noticed the reaction on his skin though small.”

It was truly a misstep, she’d apologize when he woke up. Her mind made up, she took one more glance at the man's brown skin. The small spots on him had resided thankfully, now the only proof that he had an allergic reaction was his own labored breathing and sweat-drenched hair.

Righty then, No harm no problem.

She turned and left, not forgetting to turn the lights on so he knew what room he was in later.

The now empty room tipped with the plane’s jerky flight, allowing the abandoned body to feel the most stress induced sleep of its life. While time shouting echoed outside the door.

Sliding back and forth along the floor when the plane tipped too far, he eventually hit the “medical” bag he had grabbed, or in better terms, the suitcase he had lost when he fell through the staff (bathroom) door.

A thud…. than a labored choking sound spread in the room followed by the gurgling of silva, the limp body couldn’t swallow. Brook’s face turned ruddy while his fingers curled in the direction of his throat. He was awake, awake but limp.

His terror and panic from before were numbed along with his limbs, the only thing he could feel was what felt like a paper ball logged in the center of his throat. No bigger than a toothpick’s tip.

No matter the size, it clogged his breathing. 

The feeling started, he had known it was coming the second he spotted the grapes in her cart.

His gaze remained on the ceiling trying to control the body he’d forgot how to move while pumping all the oxygen he could into his empty lungs.

He could feel it, the prickling hives like needles pushing out from his stomach to the outside air, peeling every nerve it meets on the way out. Bloated body swelling, and the paper ball in his throat growing into a couple of peanuts, only to jingle around in his bloated throat until a doctor would come and cut them out.

That sounded description felt wrong, but the feeling matched it well.

His skin couldn’t contain him.

His mind went back to the start, cycling through memories that might help save himself.

But he had nothing, no memories to reach for but the hour prior when first appeared.