The Saddest Thing I've Ever Written

Being alone is not having someone to call when your flight gets delayed. Noone is worrying that my plane will land safely on this chilly July Thursday. If it were to burst into flames between Melbourne and Sydney, who would Virgin Airlines notify? Seriously, how would that go down? Nowhere on my body or belongings is there an “if found, please return to…” sticker. While other passengers’ spouses, mothers, sisters or boyfriends eagerly anticipated the plane’s arrival, they’d soon learn of the disaster from the radio of their heat-filled cars, patiently parked at airport grounds. Or waiting at home, as hours passed and no signs of their loved ones could be found, they’d soon discover that calamity had struck. One by one, every passenger would be accounted for as the airline ensured that family members were appropriately notified. One by one, each name on the list would get crossed off until one lonely American girl remained. Who is she? Why has noone claimed her? Who do we call? Who do we tell? The girl has no family in the country, and noone to call her own. How long will her name remain without a line through it? How long until someone is called? Who are they going to call? Will her boss be the first to know? These are the thoughts of a lonely person.