is there writing on your everything
Title: Ad Infinitum
Fandom: original fiction: realism
Genres: angst
Characters: Jill, John, the translator, Adam
She's up, bright and early on a Sunday morning, blinking her eyes and rubbing her temples. Boarding the red-eye flight only to find herself sandwiched in coach (the network won't spring for anything more) between the translator and the camera guy.
He's just a kid, the translator, asleep with his forehead against the window. Jill's not sure of his name, but it doesn't matter really because he's just Adam's replacement anyway.
Adam, who spoke eight languages, went with her to Spain and Germany and Hong Kong, who somehow lost his spirit in Morocco, then found it again on a golf course in Connecticut with a wife and a mortgage and stability.
He invited her to the wedding, but Jill made special care to be in Peru that month. She hasn't forgiven him yet, and isn't sure if she ever will.
The translator, just a kid, snuffles loudly and wakes himself up. He looks around for a minute with babyish, protuberant eyes before settling back into an unfinished REM cycle.
The camera man is on her right. His name, which she has learned through strict repetition over their last three trips, is John. A good, strong name, her father would say, but he was never much of a father so she disregards the thought. John nudges her slightly with his elbow. "What's a seven letter word for 'leaves'?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the puzzle he's working on.
Jill looks over at him, counting letters in her head. "Abandon," she answers.
John frowns. "No..." he says slowly, "It has to start with an F." He doesn't ask for her help again.
Jill sits in silence until the 'fasten seatbelts' light comes on. She falls asleep with halfway through takeoff, and spends the rest of the flight dozing with her eyes open.
* * *
She took this job just out of college, in answer to an ad in the paper.
Wanted: charismatic young person to host TV show. Must be open minded, willing to travel.
Looking at the newspaper, Jill felt...disgusted. What a terrible, terrible job. But she had eighty thousand dollars worth of school loans staring her down and that dream job at an embassy wasn't looking to realistic now.
And hell, she was young, willing to travel.
Jill went to the interview in the sharp business suit her mother had given her for graduation, only to find she was drastically overdressed for public access television. The dress code in the office building was simply "casual" as if no one made enough money to buy a pair of slacks.
She stumbled her way through the interview, alternating between talking down and sucking up. At the end, the woman asking the questions stood up and shook her hand. Told her to buy luggage, in a week they were sending her to Mexico.
Jill thanked her, but never did buy luggage. The job was only supposed to be temporary.
* * *
Jill comes back to herself when the plane lands in Sri Jayawardenapura, a name she doesn't even try to pronounce. Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, Jill reminds herself Sri Lanka, this is Sri Lanka. Funny how after six years of world travel, everywhere looks the same.
She and her two companions bustle off the plane and out into the night. Her mind doesn't spin, even though it barely comprehends how they left at four in the morning and arrived at after eight at night, the next day. Jet lag has become a way of life.
For a minute she worries that her baby translator won't be able to hack it, but then he's chattering away in a funny language she's never heard before. Somehow it makes sense to everyone else, though, because they end up exchanging their dollars for rupees and getting a hold of a hotel for the night.
John's hoisted his camera bag up onto his shoulder, which strains a bit beneath his t-shirt, but hasn't started filming anything because all three of them are far too tired to pretend they're having a nice time.
They find their rooms, which smell like water and weak disinfectant. Jill collapses onto her bed in a grateful heap.
Fandom: original fiction: realism
Genres: angst
Characters: Jill, John, the translator, Adam
She's up, bright and early on a Sunday morning, blinking her eyes and rubbing her temples. Boarding the red-eye flight only to find herself sandwiched in coach (the network won't spring for anything more) between the translator and the camera guy.
He's just a kid, the translator, asleep with his forehead against the window. Jill's not sure of his name, but it doesn't matter really because he's just Adam's replacement anyway.
Adam, who spoke eight languages, went with her to Spain and Germany and Hong Kong, who somehow lost his spirit in Morocco, then found it again on a golf course in Connecticut with a wife and a mortgage and stability.
He invited her to the wedding, but Jill made special care to be in Peru that month. She hasn't forgiven him yet, and isn't sure if she ever will.
The translator, just a kid, snuffles loudly and wakes himself up. He looks around for a minute with babyish, protuberant eyes before settling back into an unfinished REM cycle.
The camera man is on her right. His name, which she has learned through strict repetition over their last three trips, is John. A good, strong name, her father would say, but he was never much of a father so she disregards the thought. John nudges her slightly with his elbow. "What's a seven letter word for 'leaves'?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the puzzle he's working on.
Jill looks over at him, counting letters in her head. "Abandon," she answers.
John frowns. "No..." he says slowly, "It has to start with an F." He doesn't ask for her help again.
Jill sits in silence until the 'fasten seatbelts' light comes on. She falls asleep with halfway through takeoff, and spends the rest of the flight dozing with her eyes open.
* * *
She took this job just out of college, in answer to an ad in the paper.
Wanted: charismatic young person to host TV show. Must be open minded, willing to travel.
Looking at the newspaper, Jill felt...disgusted. What a terrible, terrible job. But she had eighty thousand dollars worth of school loans staring her down and that dream job at an embassy wasn't looking to realistic now.
And hell, she was young, willing to travel.
Jill went to the interview in the sharp business suit her mother had given her for graduation, only to find she was drastically overdressed for public access television. The dress code in the office building was simply "casual" as if no one made enough money to buy a pair of slacks.
She stumbled her way through the interview, alternating between talking down and sucking up. At the end, the woman asking the questions stood up and shook her hand. Told her to buy luggage, in a week they were sending her to Mexico.
Jill thanked her, but never did buy luggage. The job was only supposed to be temporary.
* * *
Jill comes back to herself when the plane lands in Sri Jayawardenapura, a name she doesn't even try to pronounce. Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, Jill reminds herself Sri Lanka, this is Sri Lanka. Funny how after six years of world travel, everywhere looks the same.
She and her two companions bustle off the plane and out into the night. Her mind doesn't spin, even though it barely comprehends how they left at four in the morning and arrived at after eight at night, the next day. Jet lag has become a way of life.
For a minute she worries that her baby translator won't be able to hack it, but then he's chattering away in a funny language she's never heard before. Somehow it makes sense to everyone else, though, because they end up exchanging their dollars for rupees and getting a hold of a hotel for the night.
John's hoisted his camera bag up onto his shoulder, which strains a bit beneath his t-shirt, but hasn't started filming anything because all three of them are far too tired to pretend they're having a nice time.
They find their rooms, which smell like water and weak disinfectant. Jill collapses onto her bed in a grateful heap.