The Terminal

The crisp suit on his chiseled body, the black aviator sun glass on his fair-skinned face reeked of arrogance. He was travelling abroad for the first time. As he stood there waving his hand just before the final call to board the flight, his smile was intact. Underneath those black lenses were his red eyes, tears welling up in them. He didn’t want his mom to see him crying, oblivious of the fact that mothers were omniscient when it was about their children.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: