Second story inspired by my recent travel. Yet again, travel is inspiring always.


As Mary sat on her narrow seat on the plane to her city, she watched her surroundings with empty looks and empty mind. Knowing that travel always inspired her, she wanted to write a story, taking advantage of the situation. To get to the point faster, she took out her notebook and pen and held them in her hand, ready for the inspiration to come her way.

She waited like that for a while, with no sight of inspiration yet. She continued looking around. She thought that maybe she should force her inspiration by annoying it. So, she started thinking:

If inspiration was stubborn, she was even more stubborn. She would wait until she got it. It had to be hers. It could not be walking around, going to other people. It could not be other people’s. It belonged to her. It was not free to choose.

Nothing happened.

She watched the crew as they served drinks. She did not get anything because she did not want to be disrupted. Drinking something would take her mind off of her focus on inspiration.

A few minutes later, a baby started crying. Poor little thing. He was probably tired of being stuck in her mom’s lap and the bad air in the plane. Too bad he had to travel in these conditions when he was so vulnerable.

Mary watched the baby. She watched his innocent face that did not know how bad the world could be. She hoped that the baby would have a nice life.

She also saw people walking around in the plane, trying to minimize the bad effects of the long trip. It was not easy to be in such bad conditions for so many hours. She watched people’s body language, which all indicated boredom and irritation. Everyone wished for the trip to be over already.

In the meantime, the crew started serving food. She saw people trying not to look at the crew while waiting for them to come to their seats. But she noticed that most people ended up looking at them anyway and they had to force their eyes away so as not to look rude. So as not to look as if they were staring.

‘How human!’, she thought.

Her eyes now went to the notebook that was still sitting on her lap. She had found her inspiration. In fact, she always had it.

People became her words and sentences. They became her muse. And they did so only by being themselves. People being people was her inspiration.


You can read this short story and others here