by John Glasby
He lifted his own hand, then climbed up the steps and into the plane. The stewardess gave him an odd look, a quick smile, as he brushed past. Three minutes later, the engines roared and they began to move slowly towards the end of the runway. With the safety belt tightly against his stomach, he stared straight ahead of him, aware of the stinging in his own eyes. The plane paused, the pitch of the engines changed, grew into a shrill whine. Then they were racing down the wide, concrete river of the runway, the ground flashing beneath the wings. The ground fell away slowly as they lifted and began to climb. Down below, the blue expanse of the South China Sea came into view with the island of Hong Kong lying placidly in the calm water.
With a tremendous effort, he forced himself to relax, to forget. Almost of their own volition, his hands reached down, loosened the safety belt, allowing it to fall away from his body. The plane banked steeply. They turned into the red sunglow on the first leg of the journey back across the world.
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