I’m going to my death. What am I doing? Patricia wondered. I’m only an ordinary doctor. What do I know about treating refugees?
The passenger in front abruptly lowered his backrest, compressing Patricia’s knees.
My legs are too long to be doing this, she thought. Numb. Her legs were numb.
Numbness washed her mind.
“Beef or chicken?” The attendant’s banal question and the squeak of his trolley was numbing. On the move, cares melt away. There is neither past, nor future, just the speeding instant of the present.
Patricia relaxed, as Syria sped towards her at 800 kilometres per hour.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.