The air is heavy with perspiration, his t-shirt clings to his back. Outside, the sun lies stagnant on breathless tarmac. And all the flights are delayed.

In a stroller by the security line, a mother blows gently on her baby’s brow. The baby has stopped crying and now fights the inevitable  drowsiness of hot afternoons.

From somehwere in the shimmering distance of a plastic hall there’s a voice on the tannoy. The man’s voice is strained, like he’s tied his tie too tight, as he apologises solemnly for further amendments to departure times. He pauses often to wipe the dew from his upper lip.

A stomach rumbles above the chatter. The boy is reminded of the hours between now and his next meal. The rattling aircon putters and dies.

Spilling from rows of sticky seats and onto the floor, makeshift picnic parties comprise vended bottles of water or coke, overpriced sandwiches and exhausted parents. Smells of tuna and egg coagulate and crawl towards every corner of the building. Now the boy’s stomach is rumbling.

Outside it is 27 degrees. The metal window frames blister his palms, but standing there is the farthest he can get from other people. Time continues to hide in the shade.


Written in Busan airport, awaiting my flight to Jeju Island. 14/04/16

2 thoughts on “Delays

Add yours

    1. Here that was fast! Thank you Dad, I do quite like this one. Love from yer hugely talented son 😉 x


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