The Fuselage

Tabitha had heard rumors about a diner in the middle of the forest.

She spoke a smattering of Portuguese, but the dialect in the town was difficult to understand. The locals laughed when she asked them to show her the way to the restaurant in the jungle. 

A young woman, toting a large backpack and wearing a yellow t-shirt with ‘Eat and Greet’ written across the chest, approached her as she struggled to ask directions of a stall holder.

“You American?” she asked.

“Yes,” Tabitha said, relieved to hear an English accent. “Can you show me the way to the airplane diner?”

“The cooking lady?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take you,” she held out her hand and Tabitha frowned down at it.

“I don’t,” she began. “Ah, okay.”

She reached into her pocket and counted out ten Reals, the woman’s hand stayed outstretched. Tabitha sighed and added another ten. The woman smiled.

“I’m Georgie,” she said and bounced away toward the outskirts of the town. Tabitha followed.

They reached the forest and Georgie used a machete to cut a trail through the undergrowth.

The day took on a greenish hue and Tabitha glanced up towards the canopy, feeling a sudden claustrophobia beneath the immense trees.

Her shirt stuck to her body. She slapped her arms and face every few seconds at the insects buzzing around her. 

The trees were alive with the croaking of frogs and the calling of birds. 

“Do you know the cooking lady?” Georgie asked. 

Tabitha struggled to keep up.

“Well, no,” she said. “I’ve heard about her. And her restaurant. Although no-one seems to have ever been. I’ve been thinking it must just be a rumor. An urban legend.” 

“And her plane?”

“Yes. Do you think we could take a break?”

“We’re not far now,” Georgie glanced over her shoulder at Tabitha and smiled.

“So you’ve been there? It’s real?”

“Oh yes,” Georgie said.

Tabitha daydreamed about swimming pools and waiters bringing her drinks with tiny umbrellas shading them.

“She crashed it, you know? There were a dozen passengers and they just left her.” There was an edge to Georgie’s tone, an accusation bubbling just beneath the words.

“She had a baby,” she continued. “And they left her there.”

“How did she get out?”

“It took her a while. She was starving and close to death and the baby, poor thing, it barely survived,” Georgie turned to face Tabitha. “She made it to a village. The same village the other passengers had found. She gathered as much food as she could and trekked back to the plane.”

“And then opened a restaurant?” Tabitha was incredulous. She felt she was missing something.

“That came later,” Georgie said. “There was some kind of convention in Rio that the passengers had been going to. A chefs’ convention or cooking or something,” Georgie’s voice trailed off.

A large, colorful bird flew above them, its call an alarm issuing a warning to all that would listen.

“She found all kinds of equipment in the hold. Perfect for cooking the most delicious, gourmet meals you could ever dream of.”

“I imagine it must be difficult to get supplies so far into the jungle,” Tabitha said.

“Oh, not as difficult as you’d think,” Georgie said. 

They had come to a clearing. In the middle was the wreckage of an airplane. The cockpit was buried nose deep in the trees and the wings were nowhere to be seen, but the rest of the aircraft was miraculously intact. 

A large, hand-painted sign leaned against the plane, it read ‘The Fuselage.’ Flames leaped out of two metal drums placed closely together and a large grill sat over the top.

A woman stepped down from the plane. She was wearing a long, black apron and aviator goggles. She carried a cast-iron skillet to the grill. 

When she saw the two women approaching she gave a big, welcoming smile.

Tabitha relaxed. She had started to think that Georgie was leading her on a wild-goose chase.

“Georgie,” the woman called, waving the women over. 

Georgie gave the same smile and strode towards the woman, arms outstretched.

“Mom,” she called. 

Tabitha froze. Georgie turned to her and Tabitha couldn’t help but glance at the machete she was carrying.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” said the ‘cooking lady.’

“Yeah, well, just one this time. Hope you’re not too hungry.”

Tabitha wondered how fast she could run back through the trees.

Photo by Snapwire on Pexels.com

Author: writejosephinewrite

Josephine grew up in England and now resides in the northeast corner of the US. She writes flash fiction and short stories while consuming vast amounts of tea. She is querying a novel-length middle-grade fantasy, which she hopes to get published in her lifetime. You can read her work in Devil's Party Press Halloween Party 2019, Exhumed, Mother Ghost's Grimm Volume 2, Siren's Call, and 72 Hours of Insanity Volume 8.

6 thoughts on “The Fuselage”

  1. Very vivid and well told! I wasn’t sure why Tabitha jumped to her conclusion at the end; maybe more hints at the diner’s food source would help? And maybe not having Georgie expect a payment (if she knows she’s leading Tabitha to her death). Or a line that reconciles the two? Good job, I’m really worried for your MC!

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    1. Hi Kim, thanks for reading! I see what you mean. Perhaps if I eliminated the sentence where they exchange money, I can add a hint about the food source. I was trying for irony (Tabitha paying to meet her own demise) but not sure it came across well. I wrote this quickly yesterday morning before heading out for the day, but reading it back again there’s quite a few things I want to add/change.

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  2. I loved the twist at the end! I had to go back and read it again to see where I missed the clues and found them scattered like little breadcrumbs. You did a terrific job of pulling me into the story and turning things upside down for me. This was a great take on the prompts!

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  3. I’m afraid it was too subtle for me, I didn’t figure it out until I read the comments! I was puzzled why Georgie hugging her mom would be an a-ha moment for Tabitha. But very well written nonetheless!

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    1. Thanks for reading. And I appreciate your input, I need to work on making my intent clearer in my writing. I think, because I knew where I wanted the story to go, I missed getting it to where the reader would also understand.

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