Day 1 9:30 PM

“Dear Diary,

Hello, my name is Harold, and I am going away.

I don’t really know where. And I don’t really know what I’m looking for, So I guess it doesn’t really matter where I go.

The airport feels like a massive, hollow tomb of glass and steel. Everything is bathed in a cold, bluish-white light that reminds me of my childhood days in the hospital. The rows of empty black seats look like they’ve never been sat in. Like it would be a sin to do so and interrupt their perfect formation. The polished floor smells like chlorine. That, at least, I don’t mind.

There is no one here.

Not a single soul.

No hurried footsteps, no distant announcements, no crying children or hugging couples. Just the low, endless hum of fluorescent tubes and the echo of my shoes against the floor.

‘Click-Clock, Click-Clock’, they go.

I scan my ticket at the check-in kiosk, and the machine beeps once. Polite, mechanical, indifferent. A boarding pass slides out from a slot I didn’t notice before. No questions. No line. No human voice to tell me I’m doing it right.

Above me, the departure boards read countless destinations. Flight numbers hovering against black emptiness. Then, a single clean “ping” cuts through the silence, and Flight 404 turns green. My flight. Gate whatever. It doesn’t matter. The board simply tells me ‘It’s time’.”