Original Writing- Topic Is Death

Death and its following disappointments

Death is easy; it’s the people that witness death that suffer. My dad would beg to differ…

“Uh. Oh” he stuttered. I shot a glance at where the voice came from and saw nothing, but people rummaging through space in such a tiny area.
“Amooo”, Malak shouted as she bounced with enthusiasm across the dull, grey chairs and lunged herself into his giant, warm, comforting arms.
“It’s such a coincidence that uncle flies back to London in the same plane, same day, same time, same seat???” I questioned as I limped to our ‘economy seats’. I saw the same suspicious look on my sister’s face. It took a second before we both glared at each other and sighed “Dad”. If you knew my dad you would notice how he has a habit of needing to know where we where, what we were doing and when will we be back, and as you can believe after a couple of years it begins to become that tiny, little bit irritating. In spite of everything, I was happy to see my uncle. I slumped in to my seat and tilted my head to the side and examined my uncle ‘logically’ shove his unimaginative humongous luggage in to the unbelievably microscopic compartment placed above the chairs. He noticed I was looking at him and decided to ask the obvious.
“What the hell happened to your face?!” he bellowed, while squinted his eyes and glared at me.
“Ugh, chicken pox”, I didn’t bother saying any more because I knew what I looked like and I knew what he’s reaction was going to be.
“Eeeee” he squealed half-heartedly, and to be fully honest, I didn’t expect that.

Films these days haven’t improved and you can only just take enough nonsense all at one time. I didn’t bother with the films on the plane because my family would eventually find a way to disturb me, enough to the fact that there was no point in attempting to watch a full two hour film with out someone with an excuse to bother my peaceful mood. Malak’s crying, more like wailing, was keeping the whole plane awake and...