Gate 23B
The terminal smelled faintly of ozone and burnt coffee. Outside, dawn smeared a bruise of red and gold over the runways, and a single plane stood apart—its fuselage catching the light like polished ash.
Marisa sat under the flickering monitor, flight delayed again. She rubbed her ticket between her palms as if friction could conjure movement. Around her, screens flashed REBOARDING, FINAL CALL, CANCELLED—a language of endings pretending to be instructions.
A maintenance worker rolled past with a cart of extinguishers, whistling a tune older than radio static. “Phoenix Air,” his badge read. She smiled at the coincidence until she noticed the faint singe at his collar, as though he’d come from somewhere bright.
When boarding finally began, she rose, heart hammering like an engine starting cold. The jet bridge was warm—too warm—and the air shimmered with invisible wings. Inside the plane, passengers blinked like sleepers waking mid-dream. A soft hum filled the cabin, low and alive.
She took her seat by the window. The tarmac glowed molten beneath the tires; smoke curled but did not sting. The captain’s voice, calm and resonant, came through the speaker:
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. We will be rising through fire into light.”
Marisa gripped the armrest. The plane lurched, then lifted, trembling—not with fear, but with renewal. Below, the city fell away like charred paper, and dawn split open, pure and blinding.
For the first time in years, she felt the burn of beginning again.
WE&P by: EZorrillaMc.
Travel in Life 
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