I hate plane rides.
No matter what I'm in a plane for, I don't care. I hate planes. I simply loathe them.
Where did this hatred come from? It all started a few weeks ago, when I was shipped like baggage, like furniture, like a vase!... to the unknown, which is where I live now. How embarrassing it was to be sick and nauseous, packed tightly in between all the luggage, moaning and groaning, with nobody to here. Was nobody going to help me?
Within half an hour or so, I was out cold. Perhaps it was all the bouncing, or perhaps it was the trauma. Maybe it was the sleeping medicine my masters gave me. Whatever the reason, I was unconscious until i heard something loud. It was pitch black and the walls that were closing in on me and the groaning were my only friends. I sat trembling and cold, and that was how the workers found me when the noise stopped an hour later.
I later realized the the sound was the engine, and that I was in the cargo place, but then I was too scared to think. I, against my will, was knocked out again, (the medicine hadn't worn off) and when I woke I heard noise.
Loud noise.
Very loud noise.
But this noise was happy. It was good noise. My masters had come for me! I raced out side and they embraced me, gallant hero that I am. We went home to a place with my cushion and I ate and was merry.
But it didn't last. The next day they left me. I thought I heard the engine again and the walls were closing in on me. I could still smell the fear inside my crate- the same crate that had I had been in in the terrible journey, I moaned and moaned- but nobody heard me.
They came back. They always did. I was too scared to remember it. Later, I heard my masters talking with the lady next door who had heard my moaning. Odd- I had thought that I was completely alone- but my masters were grim after that. When they looked at me they looked at my issues, and not my adorable face.
Later I would realize that a chapter had passed- I had separation anxiety.
No matter what I'm in a plane for, I don't care. I hate planes. I simply loathe them.
Where did this hatred come from? It all started a few weeks ago, when I was shipped like baggage, like furniture, like a vase!... to the unknown, which is where I live now. How embarrassing it was to be sick and nauseous, packed tightly in between all the luggage, moaning and groaning, with nobody to here. Was nobody going to help me?
Within half an hour or so, I was out cold. Perhaps it was all the bouncing, or perhaps it was the trauma. Maybe it was the sleeping medicine my masters gave me. Whatever the reason, I was unconscious until i heard something loud. It was pitch black and the walls that were closing in on me and the groaning were my only friends. I sat trembling and cold, and that was how the workers found me when the noise stopped an hour later.
I later realized the the sound was the engine, and that I was in the cargo place, but then I was too scared to think. I, against my will, was knocked out again, (the medicine hadn't worn off) and when I woke I heard noise.
Loud noise.
Very loud noise.
But this noise was happy. It was good noise. My masters had come for me! I raced out side and they embraced me, gallant hero that I am. We went home to a place with my cushion and I ate and was merry.
But it didn't last. The next day they left me. I thought I heard the engine again and the walls were closing in on me. I could still smell the fear inside my crate- the same crate that had I had been in in the terrible journey, I moaned and moaned- but nobody heard me.
They came back. They always did. I was too scared to remember it. Later, I heard my masters talking with the lady next door who had heard my moaning. Odd- I had thought that I was completely alone- but my masters were grim after that. When they looked at me they looked at my issues, and not my adorable face.
Later I would realize that a chapter had passed- I had separation anxiety.
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