Sci Fi Story

Where does it all begin? The true point at which any story starts, is never truly the beginning. It is merely the point where you are allowed into the story. This particular story begins with the clicking of a woman’s high heels. The naturalist was sitting in a seat dutifully protecting his carry on luggage from terrorists. They were nothing special, some belated Christmas presents and a gift for his niece in a cotton canvas tourist tote bag, and his computer case for his 17” laptop (a hanger on from his car traveling days, which he found way too big for his plane traveling day). He had arrived early for his flight, but already most of the seats at the waiting area of the gate were taken. A section of seats were unoccupied, and he chose them for their solitude and the view out the window. There across the dust covered tarmac, beyond the brown grasses of spring lining the runway, were the snow-covered mountains of his new home.

The clicking grew louder and with each of the woman’s footsteps he retreated more and more from those distant mountains. His thoughts were drawn to the confident sound of each firm step, and he knew that she was attractive just by that fact. He began to play a game he liked to play at airport gates, “Where Will They Sit”. He had to assume this woman’s mind set and determine where she would choose to sit. He wore her personality like an old comfortable jacket. Where would she sit…she made an audience with her footsteps, she won’t sit, she likes those eyes on her. She’s a stander.

True to his intuition, she walked up toward the counter by the gate and stood. He stole a brief glimpse to make sure it was her. Dark pantsuit, bright red blouse, black hair, and black high heels a ninja could kill with. Shoes like those could keep you from passing through the security checkpoint. He figured she must be short if she’s wearing heels that high, although it was difficult to discern from his vantage point. He was behind her peripheral vision, so he turned to look at her. It was her hair that stood out, jet black, a black so true that color would not escape. It pulled him into it like a black hole, and time spiraled out of control as he lost himself in that darkness.

She turned briefly his way, and while darting his eyes away his right eye winked nonchalantly. She faced him staring in his direction, but his mind was racing. He couldn’t figure it out. Something was different. He looked back to the mountains, and let his thoughts run free to their peaks. There among the untouched snows of difficult descents he realized, color was back in his life. It had been years since color was in his life. Years ago, grey had begun to encroach into his vision, slowly until all that he saw was grey. The sky, sea, land,…everything had slowly gone to grey of one shade or another. This woman in her cherry, red top and onyx hair brought the world of color back into his life. His world was open to color again, and he didn’t know what this meant.

Just then the employee at the ticket counter announced that they would begin seating. She turned again towards the counter, just as he looked back towards her. He realized now that he still hadn’t seen the face. I’ll never know the face of the muse that opened my eyes to color. She was second to line up at the call to board, and he grinned as he watched her walk out of sight down the walkway with a click of her heels. While waiting for the queue to diminish it occurred to him. It was the first time he had put cologne on in many months. He grabbed his things to join the line and smiled.