The last flight

It was a sinister feeling as I walked the last flight. I never understood why I felt that way. A sudden shudder would also run through my spine as I remember always hastily turning around. I always wondered why it was only on the last flight that the eeriness crept in. The moment would pass the moment I reached the door. I remember puzzling over this for days. No matter how engrossed I was in my thoughts, how hurried I tried to rush the climb or how indifferent I tried to be the feeling remained.

It was unexplainable I thought to myself trying to analyse. The feeling was of disturbing familiarity, of an uncanny calmness and of known and unknown times. I ran through options of a doctor, therapist, a voodoo specialist in my mind but decided against any of them. It would only make me think more on the feeling. I decided to live with it. There are days I would pause on the last flight and feel pain, there were moments where I would dash the last step and feel hurt. It was a morose feeling, of anger, anguish and yes a lot of pain.

Its been many years now and the house has grown with me. The last flight remains. The feeling remains. Yet it has got surprisingly easy, it’s a part of my life now, a grown sense of familiarity and at some level fondness. It’s a feeling of comfort that maybe I am being watched over by a unknown someone. Maybe it will never make sense, maybe I will never know but the last flight is here to stay in me.