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Writer's pictureArthur Chrenkoff

3.

25 June, 1:40 PM, over eastern Slovakia


The little boy sitting behind him kept kicking the back of his seat. Jake was having problems concentrating on the writing, the book vibrating in front of his eyes to the rhythm of a five year old’s sneakers connecting with the moulded plastic of his cocoon 16F.


“Good afternoon,” the accented voice which came over the internal sound system momentarily distracted Jake from the tremors. “This is your captain speaking. Ladies and gentlemen, we have just begun our descent. We are currently over eastern Slovakia and in a few minutes we will be crossing the airspace into Ruthenia and Galicia.”


Kick.


“We are on schedule to have you disembarking at 2:40PM local time.”


Kick.


“In the meantime please fasten your seatbelts, as we might encounter some turbulence along the way now.”


I already have, thought Jake.


Kick.


“This is nothing unusual when crossing into the Ruthenian airspace, so please do not be alarmed. In fact, for those who are travelling the first time, this is actually a good sign as it means we have not overshot the entry portal and are exactly on course. Thank you.”


Kick.


Fuck you.


Jack tuned around in his seat and gave the kid behind him a death stare. The boy’s mother, a curly redhead with round, violet, thick-rimmed glasses that made her look like she was wearing a toy bicycle balanced on her nose, finally sprang into action, scolding her offspring. At least that’s what Jake thought she did, judging from the tone of her voice, as he had no idea what language she was speaking. Having finished, she gave Jake an apologetic smile and a shrug: what can you do with kids? Jake forced himself to smile back. don’t fly with them, or if you do, keep them bound and sedated.


He turned back, opened the book again and started absent-mindedly skipping from paragraph to paragraph of the “Lonely Planet” guide, his only nod to acquainting himself with the ancestral land for all of the two days of this sentimental, money-grabbing trip.


“Ruthenia and Galicia has a distinction of being the first, and so far the only, country the existence of which the European Union has had to extensively investigate and verify before admitting as a member.


“The existence of a state, with the area of some 20,000 square miles (around 50,000 square kilometres), which suddenly popped into existence between Poland, Slovakia and Ukraine, without in any way altering the borders of these states and reducing their territory, continues to confound physicists, geographers and politicians.”


He skipped the next few paragraphs, which talked about the EU’s decision to redirect some of the Large Hadron Particle Collider funding to research into the material existence of Ruthenia and Galicia, and tried to make a start on the chapter about the country’s history, but he gave up soon. He was starting to feel a headache coming on. Time for some scotch.


The stewardess was tall, blonde and blue-eyed – how stereotypically Slavic, Jake thought – and her smile seemed genuine enough. And the drink felt good too.


Reader question: is this chapter necessary or does it slow the action down?


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