The Flight

And the coarse juggernaut of the plane gave way to a smooth glide, and he could feel his legs lose weight as the plane took off.
He looked down the window, the city beneath him kept shrinking, and ultimately became invisible as the white behemoth soared above the clouds.
He had never liked airplanes. There was something oddly unsettling about knowing that life can end just that easily.
He tried to while away the dizzy feeling. He started observing people instead. He watched the crying baby way down the aisle, his head bobbing around to express his angst. Hunger, discomfort or just plain grand-standing, no one knew what the little devil was agitated about.
Then there was the air-hostess, the pretty one. Smiling away and helping people with their shit. How much does she want to punch that bald guy who keeps asking for salted peanuts.
He observed this world around him and wondered.
He wondered how people around him were oblivious of the fact that they were an hour or so away from not meeting each other ever again, and yet they were sharing this journey, this intimate waltz through the skies, this great risk of soaring towards the sun. Their nonchalance surprised, and perhaps angered him a little.
He whiled his time away, troubling himself with these thoughts and before he could realise, it was time to land.
And with bated breath, he waited for the wheels to hit the tarmac. He had never been able to shake off the feeling of impending doom during landings. Alas, his worst fears failed to materialize, and he adjusted himself back to his original position, which had been disturbed by the landing.
Colour returned to his face as the plane came to a gradual halt and the cabin drowned in a din of cellphones switching on and conversations beginning.

“Home and dry.”, he thought. A wry smile lit his face. He closed his eyes, said his prayers, and detonated the bomb.