I love art, I come from quite an artistic family.
They draw, paint, cook, play musical instruments and some can even sing. Then there is the photographers.
I write! And pictures painted with words are art! Aren’t they?
So, here are some of my words, I hope you enjoy them and please let me know if you do. If you don’t, and you can tell me in a kind and caring way, then you can offer your opinion too.
“Something in the Water”
[Jared stepped out of the plane and a wet blanket of humidity settled over him. The contrast from the air conditioned plane intensified the smothering atmosphere of the tropics.
“Oh thank god!”
He turned to look at the dark haired woman who’d harangued the flight staff the whole three hours since they’d boarded in Brisbane to when they’d touched down at Honiara Airport. He looked back up the mobile aluminium stairs to where she was rummaging in a huge handbag, some designer label or other he assumed, noting the ridiculous but matching five inch heels as she clattered down the stairs.
“Damn!” still digging about in the bag she stopped, not seeming to care or even noticing that she held up the line of the passengers’ waiting behind her to exit the plane.
Jared shook his head slightly and moved toward the WWII relic of an air terminal. He’d not been to the Solomon Islands before, but he’d done enough dives in what were essentially third world countries to recognise a people left behind.
The sun beat down onto the tarred expanse between the plane and the large asbestos building. He entered through timber framed glass doors. He nodded hello to the blank faced security guard and looked up at the carved totem poles and an enormous carved eagle that decorated the dingy interior. Cavernous and every bit as steamy as outside the only architecturally redeeming feature of the building was a beautiful vaulted timber ceiling. A low hum announced the presence of ineffectually high ceiling fans.
“I’m sorry Ma,am, you can’t smoke here,” a deep voice interrupted Jared’s inspection of the surroundings and he knew before he looked around that it would be the good looking woman who’d been the bane of the Solomon Airlines staff.
“Oh, of course, I’m sorry,” she actually sounded sorry, Jared realised and looked back at her, she stood holding a lit cigarette aloft, looking around for somewhere to dispose of it he supposed. He’d never been able to summons up much sympathy for smokers, he detested the slavish worship that caused smokers to go to ridiculous lengths to kneel down at the altar of nicotine.
He joined the line at what served for customs and showed his passport, then moved through an opening in the asbestos partition wall to another line waiting for the luggage carousel to creak it’s load around past the vulture-like crowd. He watched amused, the way people lined up, watching to identify their bags from the multitude, to pounce and scramble to grab it before it escaped and disappeared back through the opaque plastic strips.
His back-pack appeared on the halting conveyor and he grabbed it and made his way out to the front of the airport.
He exchanged some Australian money to Solomon currency and within seconds was assailed by a colourfully dressed taxi driver.
“You need a taxi mate?” the short man squinted up at him through a waft of cigarette smoke.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
“Where to?” he grabbed Jared’s back-pack and headed out through the automatic doors.
“The Kitano Mendana.” Jared said as he followed his back-pack to a beat up Toyota Corolla circa 1970’s. The engine idled and the Black Eyed Peas “Lady Hump” crackled from tortured speakers.]
Don’t forget, let me know how this scene makes you feel? Does it pull you into the heat and humidity of Honiara International Airport?