11th of February, 8:42 am
Jarrad Mann's moment had come.
The 15 or so other players on the court swarmed around him, each serving their duty to their team. They performed their roles like clockwork, but lacking in vision. Jarrad was different. Before him, through the testosterone, screaming hysterical males, heat of the summer morning and fierce competition, he spied an opening. Bouncing his basketball once . . . twice . . . three times, he began to run. The world appeared to move in slow motion. His thick brown curls swung backwards and forwards in his eyes and a bead of sweat fell from his brow, moving and changing shape as it plummeted to its doom on the asphalt below. The other players shuffled backwards and forwards, territorial crabs, defending their home, or alternatively, pushing to expand their own. Jarrad was not a crab, he was a sea gull, preparing for flight.
He pushed forwards and through the mess of people and flapped his wings. Just ahead, a teammate rolled on their ankle and fell in agony to the ground. From this agony, Jarrad spread his wings to their full, incredible span, placed his scaly sea gull foot on the shell of the ailing crab before him, and took flight. He soared, uninhibited, graceful and free through the air. He swung his arm from behind with ball in hand. His moment had arrived, and in that moment, he slipped the ball through the hoop and hung from the ring, basking in glory.
"Jarrad Anthony Mann!" roared Lucy Bonanno from the window of her car parked just beside the court.
"Get in the fucking car; if we miss this plane, I miss my convention, and if I miss my convention I'm going to end you, you will be dead . . . the you that you are now will be reduced to a puddle of post-human goo; now get your ass in the car."
"Whipped!" was the reply of one of his teammates, accompanied by the juvenile poor attempt at a whipping noise.
"Who are you?!" she questioned, "No . . . I don't care, just shut up."
He moved to her door, awkwardly shifted her pile of medical text books and sat next to her.
"Hey."
"Unbelievable."
11th of February, 9:15 am
Eyelashes thickened, eyebrows smoothed, hairs pulled with tweezers, foundation applied, bronzer applied on top, mascara drawn on, eye shadow above the eyes, eye liner pencil adding definition. Lipstick was applied (candied red, water resistant), hair combed, hair combed again, blouse retied, skirt straightened, belt tightened and smile beaming. Emma Jenkins was looking her best, as always. She packed her things back into her handbag and turned away from the terminal bathroom mirror, proud of her morning's efforts.
Emerging from the bathroom she stepped towards the crowd of people moving towards the gates. At the same time, the door of the men's room opened vertically opposite the women's. From the bathroom emerged a young man of roughly the same age as her, his relatively long hair ruffled and still in the process of buttoning up his black and blue checkered shirt. He grinned widely as he walked away, not noticing Emma while she observed him. In the wake of the young man, also from the men's room, emerged a tall, blonde Scandinavian girl. She fixed the bandana she was using as a headband, jumped up and down so as to shift her tube top back to it's original position and then turned to Emma.
"Hullo" she basically yelled optimistically at Emma, who's expression of barely concealed disapproval appeared not to be registered by the uber friendly tourist.
"What the fuck?" she whispered under her breath as she turned and walked towards the gate. It only took a few steps for her to regain her excited smile and a few more before she walked with an invigorated spring.
12th of February, 9:30 am
A host of compact triangular planes in a large grid began to whir simultaneously.
"Training sequence is ready for commencement," crackled through 20 individual radios within the fighter planes.
Masks covered the face of each pilot as they prepared for take off.
With the combined skill of a highly practiced squad, they lifted from the aircraft carrier on which they previously rested, each row to a different elevation. For a few seconds, they hovered, engines expelling gas downwards, until with a roar and blast signaling the shattering of barrier, they disappeared leaving thick white plumes of smoke behind them.
11th of February 9:18 am
Dante Finlay Melville entered through the doors of the airport feeling like a god. His silhouette was illuminated by the rays of the morning sun and unknowingly, he placed his hands on his hips and turned his head slightly.
He was Adonis, although far sweatier and minus the face melting beauty.
In keeping with his regiment of unnecessary fitness he had power walked from his home in Concord to Sydney Airport. Figuring he would only need his money for new possessions once in London, travel documents and a change of clothes, he set out from his door in the waking ours of the morning with his backpack and a towel.
Once in the airport, the air conditioner reached down and embraced him like an old friend.
Across the floor he saw the baggage check in, eyes falling on a particularly buxom Qantas employee.
He'd already sorted his baggage arrangements the previous night on the internet, however the line was short and his adrenaline was pumping.
12th of February, 4:25 am
"I trust you've all read the safety guidelines?" asked the guide in an infuriatingly patronising tone.
Behind him an enormous blue and purple canvas shifted and moaned as though it were waking from a long, undisturbed slumber.
"Yes,"
"It can be pretty chilly up in the balloon," the guide felt compelled to place his arms around his chest and make a noise a four year old would associate with cold, just in case the customers before him were mildly disabled and could not comprehend his words. "It will be hours before we touch down on the iconic Bellllonngilll Beach," the extra letters weren't needed, but he felt they made the speech more exciting. "So let's rug up!"
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