Topic: Identity Story.

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Machu requested to read (after I asked if he wanted to xD) So here is my Identity story for English.
Which I have to write tomorrow in 40 minutes.

I could see the lavatory indicator turn off. It was open. I let the man who was inside move out of the way and I walked in. Dim light reflected off the dirty mirror. And as I locked the door, it shone brighter. I turn, staring to myself. I couldn’t see anything, nothing.
Who am I?

***

Ding! The seatbelt indicator is turned back on. I look out the window, and all I can see for miles is an abyss of clouds. I could hear the speakers being turned on and as I gave a glance to the safety booklet, the pilot told us calmly that “we are currently experiencing some turbulence.” The whole plane shakes with fury, knocking over my cola, spilling it into my lap. “Great!” I pulled the handkerchief out of my coat pocket. It was embroidered, with my initials. I was trying to dry up my pants, but to no avail, it wouldn’t dry up. I looked up to the seatbelt indicator. Still on, I had to deal with this problem.
Ding! The indicator’s backlight had dropped, I looked out the window and it was clear skies. I unbuckled my seatbelt, which was now moist and smelling of cola. I stood, up, and let a trolley full of beverages pass by clinking of empties. I stood alone in the centre aisle; most of the seats at the back of the plane weren’t full anyway, so it didn’t really matter to me.
I started to walk down; the lavatory was at the back. I planned on using the large amount of toilet tissue to dry up my pants. It was twenty rows to the end of the plane. I was in section C, at the front. Row one. Row two. Everyone was watching the in-flight movie, some crappy romantic comedy. I was up to the sixth row now, and sitting alone, was a businessman. He was reading a newspaper, trench coat tied around his. A look of sadness was on his face. He was almost crying, yet had the only dry eyes in the rows around him. Someone had broken up with someone in the movie.

***

It was two o’clock, and the thunder clap from outside rang through the terminal. It was pouring outside. Wet floors signs stationed everywhere. I walk outside of the terminal, my dry pants now donned, with the semi-dry pants put in my bag, which was now in my hand. It’s dry where I am, probably the only place that’s dry in New York. I looked across the road, in-between a gap in the taxi queue, a business man, trench coat tied around his waist, who was assigned a seat in row six, section C. He was covered in rain, cheeks wet, shoes filled with water. He had no umbrella, only his black and white newspaper. He was drenched, another massive downpour came along. The wipers on the windscreens around me sped up. I could see his face; he had turned to call for a taxi. His eyes were still dry, dryer than any other part of his body, yet he still looked saddened, as the ink from the newspaper reached his eyes, and created ink tear tattoos on his cheeks. I don’t what came over me, but I suddenly felt a great surge of emotion, like I was relating with him, yet, I had no idea what he was experiencing.

***

Row six, and I was blocked by another drinks trolley. I was stuck. They were moving backwards, so I followed along slowly. They asked if I was going somewhere, but I didn’t mind, I liked watching people’s reactions – sort of comical I think. In the twelfth row, there was a woman, who had a five year old resting on her chest: Her daughter? An illegitimate child? Either way, they seemed to love each other. I felt like relating to her, a feeling of sympathy.

***

“Flight BH647S to New York will be boarding in 10 minutes.” The female voice emerging from the loudspeaker repeated. “Flight BH647S to New York will be boarding in 10 minutes, woman, children and disabled personnel will board first.” I was sitting in a chair, about 30 metres away from the boarding gate. “Sure!!” My attention was drawn to a woman, yelling into her hand, close to the centre of the gate. “Leave me to look after her again, with absolutely no help.” She was yelling into a phone, while balancing her daughter in her other arm. The woman must have been strong, as the child could have easily been five or six years old. The girl was slipping from her arms, so she let her down on the ground, while covering both of her ears, the woman spoke. Silence. Children stood still like statues, mouths open everywhere, with onlooking parents shocked. The woman was angry, very angry.

***

I had almost reached the end of my section. The two minutes proceeding behind the trolley to only move down three rows was tedious. Row nineteen was two rows away from the end of my section, which took another three minutes to reach. Couldn’t people ordering see that I wanted to get past? As the drinks trolley past the only man to be sitting in the row, he hurled abuse at the young hostess. No wonder why, I could smell the vodka coming off his breath, a good distance away.

***

“Just a bottle of cola thanks.”
“Sure, that’s $2.20 sir.”
I paid the girl, how anyone could be so happy to work in a terminal bar I don’t know. It was early in the morning, about eight o’clock. The bar was quite empty this early in the morning. Only two tables occupied, one by a family wearing an assortment of tracksuits, another by a lonesome man, who looked to be drunk. How that was possible before nine in the morning? I just don’t know.

***

I had got my luggage at 13:55. At which point I saw the drunk may seated in row nineteen being escorted to the police, waiting patiently outside the airport. It looked beautiful outside. As I watched the drunk man leave, a man knocked me over, make me drop my bag, I looked up, and saw a man wearing a trench coat tied around the waist begin to walk towards the exit.

***

As I moved towards the lavatory, my eyes had moved away from the man’s handcuffs. I closed the door, dim light around me. I looked into the dim mirror. A stare, but nothing.
Who am I?