There's always something unreal about airports, something about the staff's constant smiling or the metallic scent that lingers in the air or the military vehicles that constantly patrol the plane hangers with weapons far too large to be just for preventing civilian entry into off limit areas.
Even the tiny airports on the outer islands around Scotland have the same eerie atmosphere of not technically a part of the area it's in, technically an international space where nobody lingers for too long in fear of the staff who creep and prowl in their human guises like living shadows.
In our local airport the military presence is practically the main tourist attraction. Unlike most other airports in the country they don't stick to the outer areas and around the hangers, they is always at least one soldier in every room, armed to the teeth and so silent you can easily forget they're even there.
Around three times a year we can hear them firing in the hangers, whoever or whatever it is always leads to four or five ambulances being called out and rushed off to the nearest compound medical centre. Everyone knows soldiers don't go to civilian hospitals in case we see something we shouldn't.
Those of us who live around the airport are made to sign several papers stating we aren't allowed to talk about any unusual circumstances we experience, strange noises, lights and smells. We certainly aren't allowed to talk about the footprints all over our gardens, dark green, slimy eight toed things leading to our back doors and the airport several times as if there was more than one visitor.
This doesn't count as talking, right?
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