Flight No. C131

One can never really be silent. Even when you close your eyes, your ears, or your mind, there's always that whirlpool whirling. Sometimes it's the humming of blood in your head. It has a rhythmic, unrecognised flow; like waves on a rock, wind trapped inside the eardrums, raging veins inside your cornea. The closing of the mind is the trickiest. It makes the loudest silence. Silence is actually, not silent at all.

He shoved the ear plugs inside, pulled the eye mask over his eyes, and tried to imagine silence. But it didn't help. He could hear his breathing - tiring, endless, mechanical and loud.

It had been five hours in the flight already. The lights were dimmed, the stewardess napping in a corner, eyes half shut.

This was not going to help at all. He ripped off the eye mask and looked out of the window. All he saw was stars. He imagined flying into them. Every time he was on a plane, he loved looking out at the stars if it was night time. The plane was actually moving, but it didn't feel like it. All was quiet outside, the illusion of silence. He wished he could put his head out and have the glitter of the stars splashed on his body. Like his dog Poo did when he was taken out for a ride, ears flapping madly.

He kept looking out, the silence of his mind slowly becoming faint as if it wanted to complete itself. It meant sleep would be here soon. That was such a waste. Why not want fullness instead of silence, soak in everything trivial instead of wanting to be wholesome by bigger things?

The woman he had seen earlier near the entrance while boarding was walking towards him. Then she stood next to his seat and looked around. She was muttering something to herself. Their eyes made contact, and she smiled, shrugging her shoulders.

She came closer and spoke, "I need an extra blanket, but don't feel like waking the stewardess up."

He sat up straight and offered the one lying next to him, on the unoccupied seat.

"You can take this one. There's no one using it."

"Are you sure?"

"That no one is using it, or if I have the right to offer you the private property of the airlines?"

She laughed. "I meant, are you sure you don't need it?"

"No, I actually don't even need mine. I feel pretty warm most of the time. Maybe it's my half Italian blood!"

She seemed interested in his flirting, and sat down next to him.

"Are Italians supposed to be hot blooded?"

"No, they're supposed to be hot."

She chuckled. He continued, seeing that she was encouraging him, "I think I've lost the blood part somewhere. I'm a zombie, you see."

She raised her eyebrows. She had beautiful eyebrows, dark and perfectly shaped, not too arched like the supermodels, not thin or thick, but natural and full.

"Zombie have no soul. They look alive, but they're actually dead," she said.

"Oh really?And how do you know that for a fact?"

He looked at her properly now. She was wearing a black skirt, a white shirt and a light black jacket. She had black pumps on, and her hair was tied up in a bun. Her neck had a gold chain with a 'C' on it. The whole look was that of a woman going in for a corporate interview. Maybe she was a lawyer or an investment banker, possibly off Wall Street.

"That's because I'm a ghost buster."

He almost choked, then took what she said with a pinch of salt. "Now I know who to call!"

She didn't smile and sat poker faced.

"You know, the song...who you gonna call...ghost busters..."

"Yes, I know the song, and the movie. But this is not funny. I'm dead serious."

He fumbled a bit, then said, "Seriously? So, what does a ghost buster do?"

She stretched out her hand. "Celia. My name is Celia. I work for a company that detects paranormal activity and exterminates electromagnetic radiation that causes these effects. You know that, right, that ghosts are actually just delusional effects of imbalanced electromagnetic activity?"

"Emm.. Of course, who doesn't? So you are not kidding about this? You seriously do this shit? "

"Yes, of course. The company is called 'Shed A Fear'.

He laughed.

"Sorry, no offence. So that means you are fearless, not scared of anything Celia?"

She stretched out in the chair, took off her shoes.

"I hope I didn't disturb your sleep by asking for the blanket?"

"No, not at all. In fact, I couldn't sleep at all."

"Same here. Was feeling too cold because of the draft over my head. And to answer your question, I'm not fearless. Fear is natural, fear is healthy. Fear makes us recognise our weaknesses and strengths, and makes us aware of our mortality."

"I would love to know what someone like you would be afraid of Celia?"

She closed her eyes.

"I'm afraid of this plane, and this flight. I wish I could get out. But at the same time, I'm also afraid of not being afraid at all. That would be not human, then I would be like the zombies no?"

He appeared puzzled. "Hang on, I don't get it. It would ideal for you, especially in the job that you do, to not feel fear. So why would you want to?"

She looked around. They were the only two people in the last row. She kept her hand over his. He looked at her, but didn't move.

"When I touched your hand, you twitched. Why?," she asked.

"It was unexpected, that's why. It's a natural reflex. It wasn't because I was afraid. "

"Exactly. Why didn't you move your hand then?"

He stared at her. She was still holding his hand.

"I don't know Celia. You're an attractive woman. Why would I?"

"That's fair enough. Now, if I had walked over to you and instead of a blanket, I had asked to hold your hand, what would you have said?"

"I don't know..."

"Honestly. Think about it."

"I would have thought you were nuts, or maybe horny, which by the way happens to a lot of people on flights. Something about flying and sex."

She smiled. He looked flustered.

"Okay, sorry Celia. That didn't come out right. What's the moral of this story?"

"There isn't any. Just an interesting game I was playing."

"Ah I see, maybe you're not a ghost buster. You just said that to perk my interest."

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Maybe what looks real isn't, and what is real, really isn't."

She was beginning to freak him out a bit now.

He pulled his hand away, and faked a yawn. "I really think I should sleep now."

"But you said you were not sleepy."

"Maybe now I am. All your mumbo jumbo talk has got me bored, instead of interested."

"No issues. I understand."

She got up to leave, then turned around again and said, "By the way, just a suggestion. You shouldn't wear an eye mask all the time. You should be more careful. Last year, there was a murder on this flight. You never know what kind of psychos are there on our flights."

She was staring at him. His knee was shaking. He was scared. She shouldn't sense his fear.

"Thanks for the advice. Good night Celia."

She walked away towards the front of the plane. He couldn't sleep after that. There was something sinister about her. What if she was waiting for him to doze off? Maybe he was being paranoid, but he was in a cold sweat.

The pilot announced they were flying over Milan. He looked down and saw clusters of fairy lights. What would civilization be without electricity?

He finally decided to take matters in his own hand and confront her. But after two trips up and down the plane, and checking the toilets, he felt as if he was in a bad dream.

He asked the steward for Celia. "She borrowed my I-pod. I need it back."

The steward checked the list again. "Nope, no one by that name. There's a man called Cecil." He pointed at a bald, old man snoring away.

He thanked the steward and wobbled back to his seat. The fear was gone now. He felt shocked and desensitised. He stared at the sky for an hour. The sky glowed as daylight was about to make its way to the plane.

Then he pulled the eye mask over his eyes and wept.