My Mom is a Terrorist

A blur of yellow, black, and white raced by outside my window. I stared blankly at all of the movement on the other side of the car door. Instead, I thought about the vacation that was just about in reach. Bikers on Harley’s could be heard roaring past out vehicle, and taxis crowded the highway. The little greenery that existed in the concrete jungle of New York City passed us by on our way to the airport.

I concentrated on the faint reflection in the window. A boy of fourteen stared at me with cold, blue eyes. He was dressed casually in khaki shorts and a cheap t-shirt. His hair was in disarray, and his expression would have told even the least bright person in the entire world that he wasn’t in the mood to talk (or be talked to). A purplish-black line could be found just below his eyes. It was a sure sign of tiredness. Maybe it was from the past few nights that I was out with my friends. Yeah, that was it. Twelve in the morning doesn’t suit me.

My whole summer break is supposed to be spent in one of the most boring places on Earth, Scandinavia. Well, to be precise, on the legendary mountain of Trollkyrka. Why it’s legendary, don’t ask. “Isn’t it one of the coolest things ever!?” my parents keep saying. I say they don’t have a single brain cell. What am I supposed to do over there? Read? Hike? Well then what? This is going to be one boring summer. I at least had internet access, TV, and a bunch of more interesting stuff to do at home.

My mouth was dry from all of the salty snacks I’d had on the way to the airport, and the car is crammed to the brim with junk we don’t really need. I felt claustrophobic and in need of a bag for what’s supposed to come out of your mouth in troubling times. Traveling isn’t something that I’m too big on.

A huge green sign that was erected on the side of the road loomed above our heads. It read ‘Airport: 5 miles’. I sighed audibly so as to make sure that everyone in the car heard. My mom turned around in the passenger seat to face me.

“For the last time Troy, It’s going to be an exciting summer break!”

“Reading is exciting?” I asked.

My mother fought to control the anger welling up inside of her. Instead of responding, she faced forward and did her best not to start yelling. My dad sensed the tension in the air but didn’t bother to do anything about it. He too was tired and sick from getting up at 4:00 AM!

Who had even suggested it? It was my sister, naturally. She sat in the back seat, hands folded neatly in her lap and smiling without a care in the world. She showed not one ounce of tiredness and so I guessed that she normally got up at four every morning. You can call my family whatever you want to, but just know this: I really don’t care. They’re weird. I know. So what?

Control towers stood tall and proud above our heads, and planes going to and coming from littered the ground with a white mass of machinery. A vast building, low to the ground but long in length, sat in the hot sun. We made our way to the parking lot, paying the parking fee as we went through security. We found a suitable spot to leave our vehicle and left it to bake in the heat of the days that would soon follow.

We entered the long and squat building and soon began the laborious process of airport security. “May I see your bag sir? Can I help you with something? Where is that damned passport?” The usual curses and questions were shouted across the lengthy building. Peoples of all cultures wandered to and fro about the airport, stopping constantly to admire a structure of some sort or a famous celebrity going home to visit a friend. All you’re actually aware of is the volume of the building, the random shouts, and the odd feeling of being crowded in a large area.

A wave of exhaustion comes over you after the dangerous journey through security, and then you wait … and wait and wait until your plane is ready to be boarded. And how very, well, boring it is. It was your typical boring journey to Scandinavia. This is the worst vacation ever.

A voice suddenly crackled over the buzz of the crowd. “Flight A-3 now boarding. Flight A-3 now boarding.” It was about time. My parents started to pick up luggage and grunted with the effort and strain that they used to lift the heavy bags. My sister, meanwhile, stood and stretched her legs from the long wait, not even bothering to help. The bags in my possession weren’t nearly as heavy because I was the only one that brought “the essentials”. I hefted my bags over my shoulders, making my way to the narrow corridor that connected the plane with the building.

A smiling and young woman waited by the door to check for tickets and whatnot. “Hello young man! May I see your ticket?” I handed her the plane ticket and waited for her approval to board. After a few seconds wait she waved me through. Waiting for my parents I double-checked my bags.

Toothbrush, floss, soap, shampoo, a couple of books, and clothes. Everything was present. My parents caught up with me and began to usher me through the corridor to the plane. People of varying shapes and sizes pushed past, not bothering to excuse themselves for their rude behavior. What a world we live in.

A hand brushed against my leg and then it was gone. It all happened so fast that I didn’t even think to check my pockets for anything missing. We boarded and found the row and number that our tickets said were waiting for us. I plopped into the comfortable first class seat, ready to drift into a nice deep sleep, but the flight attendants were still busy checking tickets and taking care of every person’s individual needs and wants. When your dad owns a chain of restaurants this is what you get I guess.

Another smiling, young woman glanced at my ticket and moved on. Finally. Now I could sleep. Within minutes, darkness and silence closed over me and held me in an unyielding grip. Nothing could wake me. Not the take-off, the excited tourists, or the – BOOM! – plummeting of a plane.

 

Tourists screamed in agony, and some lied dead in their seats. Blood poured from … from what? It looked as though blood was just seeping out of people as sap does from a tree. I wanted to vomit but couldn’t. I wanted to shut my eyes and never wake up. I wanted it all to end, and suddenly it did.

Nothing moved, breathed. The plane was frozen in the sky, not falling like the brick it is. A shiver ran down my spine, a sure sign that some unknown presence was lurking about. I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t budge. Held fast to the chair, I felt even more afraid. Nothing made sense. My mind,  thrown into overdrive, started to think of ideas that were both bizarre and horrible. It thought of a ideas that might help to escape, and the ideas all entailed that I somehow lose limbs along the way.

A shadow passed across my window. It was sinister and dark, evil in every way. What should I do?

I slammed the shutter over the window and prayed that it wasn’t after me. Moments later, footsteps could be heard inside of the pilot’s cabin. My teeth started to chatter from an extreme cold that had entered the plane.

I was moving. My mouth was moving! I tried to sit up and succeeded. Now what? Do I make a run for it? But I didn’t. I was attracted, for a strange reason, to the pilot’s cabin. Shuffling over to the door, I took a final look at the bloodied passengers, but the passengers were gone. There was no one but me now. I gulped in fear, but continued by putting my hand on the door handle.

Adrenaline raced through me, giving me strength and lightning quick reflexes.  I opened the door. Nothing, no one, was on the other side. Strange.

A hand gripped my shoulder, and I spun around to face the attacker. A middle-aged man looked into my eyes with a heartless and cold gaze. Anyone would be instantly repelled by this mysterious man, but I found interest in him. What would he be doing in my dream? I don’t even know him.

I felt calmer with this man around. He was muscular and serious, a huge man. His chin jutted outward, giving me the impression that he has much power. Short and thin, brown hair covered his head, and ice blue eyes pierced me with their stare.

He didn’t kill me or tear me limb from limb. Rather, he recited a verse:

“They call me Troll;

Gnawer of the Moon,

Giant of the Gale-blasts,

Curse of the rain-hall,

Companion of the Sibyl,

Nightroaming hag,

Swallower of the loaf of heaven.

What is a Troll but that?”

 

I awoke with a start. Sweat poured down the front of my shirt and a flight attendant, along with my parents and a crowd of tourists, were gathered around me. Breathing came in short, rapid gasps, and it pained me when I tried to sit up.

Dad looked shocked at seeing me like this and Mom just stood there, looking at me with, not shocked or crying eyes, but amazed eyes. Nothing made sense anymore. All I wanted was to fall back to sleep and wake up in some hospital in Scandinavia.

Scandinavia. We were still moving in the air. We weren’t plummeting to our deaths but rather going on a happy and care-free trip to Trollkyrka. What a dream. There were no screams of terror or anguish. Everyone surrounding me looked genuinely worried more than anything. It was strange and mysterious. What the hell was I thinking about before I went to sleep?

After another few moments of panic, I sat up in my seat and told the flight attendant that I was alright with my eyes. She seemed to understand and started to herd the tourists back into their designated seats.

For the next hour or so, I was confined to my seat, telling my parents about my dream. My dad insisted that I go to a therapist, but my mom forced that crazy idea out of his mind. Somehow, she knew something I didn’t.

The hour of pure craziness passed, and everything went back to normal. Of course, there was always the occasional glance in my direction. It annoyed me to the point that I would almost gladly hang myself. They only cared about me and my well-being, but I was to stupid to think that.

Sleeping was out of the question and watching a movie just seemed too boring at the moment so, instead, I observed the passengers. How boring is that? But it was something to do for the next eight hours or so.

Was that right? Eight hours? I wondered how much time had passed when I was asleep. I asked a small and plump lady who sat next to me. She laughed and replied, “It’ll be only ten minutes before we land, darling.” Ten minutes! It had been a quick journey at least. I could have done without the nightmare though.

I decided a movie wasn’t so bad after all. Playing on the television was Disturbia. Now things were getting kind of creepy. I took out my PSP, but then I remembered that all I brought along were first-person shooting games. Sitting still for the next ten minutes wasn’t easy at all. The passengers were enjoying themselves with movies, iPods, and the like while I sat and did nothing.

The ‘Fasten your seat belts’ light blinked into life, and all of the passengers slowly started to put away their belongings and follow the instructions.

A flight attendant glided about the plane helping passengers wherever she could. All the while, I could feel her eyes on me. This wasn’t another dream. This was real life, and something about me was drawing attention. I slid down into my seat, waiting for the plane to land. I risked a peek at the attendant, but she was gone. All of the passengers were now ready for landing.

Fear gripped at me, and I didn’t know why. Call it instinct, but I just had to get off of the plane, fast. Everyone was calm with the exception of a few first time fliers. Another cold sweat came over me.

At last, the pilot crackled over the intercom.

“We’ll be landing in one minute ladies and gentlemen, one minute.”

I went into deep concentration, trying to piece together the puzzle that was my dream, for I was sure that all of this had something to do with it. Was I not supposed to dream it? What’s wrong with dreaming? And anyways, how do you know what a person is dreaming about? I rested my head in my hands, thinking about it.

Suddenly, a voice sounded in my ear. “Get up and don’t call for help”, the voice whispered sharply. “No one will come to your aid if you do. I’ve made sure of that.”

Slowly, I stood. When I looked for help I found none because, for one reason or another, they wouldn’t make eye contact with me. Everyone was going about their own business, laughing at jokes and gossip.

I turned to face my captor and found myself looking at the flight attendant. I was at a loss for words, but, after all, she did watch me intently just seconds ago.

I pulled myself into the aisle to stand next to her.

She held no weapon or anything at all for that matter. If she did have a weapon, it was concealed. I didn’t want to get shot by this monstrosity so I had no choice but to obey. Forcing our way through the aisle was an easy, but also, strange task. When I shoved a man the size of a small country out of my way, he turned around angrily, but his face immediately turned to puzzlement. Other occurrences like this happened three or four times before we stopped outside of the pilot’s cabin.

“In”, she grumbled.

Just as I did in my dream, I slid the door to one side, but this time, the room wasn’t empty. Inside of the room was the pilot, co-pilot, another flight attendant (this one male), and … my mom.