Romance Fan FictionThe story of a single diva in a couple's world Airplane Hell!

For our readers who enjoy romance fan fiction ;

Sometimes free romance stories aren’t born in fairy-tale kingdoms; sometimes they are born and aborted in our everyday travels. We join our young, single, diva; Vale Bliss, on her daily grind.

The majority of the time I’m perfectly satisfied with my singleness and in fact, grateful that I don’t have the happy little family thing going on. Across from me sits the young family with twin boys who, and I am not exaggerating, cannot stop wallering for a five second run to save their lives.

These minions have destroyed the phone, torn pages out of the in-flight magazine, and made a pretzel and apple-juice paste to paint their haggard mother’s face a lovely shade of tired while Daddy dons his Bose noise-cancelling headphones. And she looks to be about four months pregnant which would make them… 2.5 kids. How text-book. Thank you, God, that I am 0.0 kids.

But here on my right, just at my elbow, sits the frame of my lonely heart; a young couple giggling into each other’s hair, holding hands and sharing a sandwich, whispering their private secrets under the in-flight blanket living out their romance fan fiction and making my stomach come up into my throat to remind me that I sit alone on airplanes.

I wear my Bose noise-cancelling head-phones not to overlay white-noise atop my shrieking sons, but to pump my brain-pan with something other than deafening pillow talk or the voices in my head that tell me it will never happen for me.

This plane is a virtual Noah’s ark and they board two-by-two to sit by me in Economy seating as a deafening reminder of my loneliness. I mean singleness. Being alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely, right?

Perfect. One of the twins finally ran out of rocket-fuel and his brother is letting him sleep. He’s sprawled across the lap of his grateful guardian while Dad strokes his hair. Dammit if the boy doesn’t look just like the poetic sleeping angel. I want to poke him with a stick and remind him that if he starts hitting the flight attendant buzzer yet again I might feel better about myself.

Giggling Girl next to me will never have happiness with this new love of hers. Romeo just looked down my shirt for the third time. First time – okay, because he’s a man and one might assume him gay if he didn’t look at these lovelies. Second time… maybe because my pink camisole is peeking from the top of my sweater V? But a third time: because he’s a big, fat, cheater-head and they may be laughing together now, but it's apparent a lifetime of tears awaits them.

And God is so good; ‘Thing One’ just threw up on sleeping ‘Thing Two’s’ head. This is not the benign pretzel and apple-juice paste but something much more colorful. It appears to be little bits of a hot-dog with blue chili, but that makes no sense, so it must be Skittles.

Taste the Rainbow Two-point-Five.

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