100 years from now, wind rips across a rugged airfield on the outskirts of Istanbul. What few dry grasses still try to grow out of the runway are being battered even harder against the ground. At the end of this runway looms an aeroplane, an old passenger carrier, fixed up and gutted to hold more of the boxes it's currently being laden with. Not that a bypasser would be able to make out any of this particularly well given the quickly fading twilight, only pierced by the yellow guide-lights, hastily constructed around the runway.

After what feels like about an hour, the final box is about to be loaded as the wind dies down. The grasses' sighs of relief are muffled by the silence that has fallen over the airfield. The two shadows that were loading the plane turn to each other in agreement before dropping the box, sitting down and illuminating themselves with a shared cigarette.

    "Thanks again for agreeing to come with me." The person holding the lighter offers a thankful smile to his companion, his eyes betraying how much he means it, he didn't want to do this alone.
    "Of course Joli-" She almost chokes on the smoke in response, "It's not like I was doing anything super important anyway."
    "Weren't you helping out with the drought?" He says, snuffing out the lighter. There isn't judgement or surprise behind the question, just asking.
    "Hah, well, more important than usual, you know what it's like. Plus this is pretty important too." She doesn't mean to but her eyes flit down to the box currently being safely guarded by Joli's rear. "Speaking of, where are we delivering to this time?"
    "Cambridge?"
    "That's a bit close to London isn't it?"
    "That's why we need to go there I'm afraid."
    "Normally we drop off further north so they can get to Manchester as well." She raises an eyebrow, "This is about something else isn't it? You fancy a beach trip or something?" Joli droops his head embarrassed.
    "So. I've been seeing someone-" But he's cut off by Marc's guffaw which morphs into a cackle.
    "God you're a romantic bastard, let's stop there on the way back so we can load up again." She offers Joli a half-smile in compromise. "They've got that big computer thing there right? We can take some plates and it'll save them time pinging it around. Especially with what's going on in Brussels." Her smile sours. "Selfish buggers." Joli manages to lift his neck to reveal a concerned expression that's clearly been scribbled over a giddy smile.
    "Good plan." He slaps his knees, "Should we get this last box in?"

As the two disappear inside the plane, a cheery mob surrounds them. They tend to the plane and its inhabitants, wishing well, bidding goodbye, being reminded that they're only going to be gone for a week, being reminded in turn that they will be missed regardless, and so on. It's not a sad or unusual parting by any means, but these people truly care for each other. They genuinely do love each other in a way not uncommon for a group of colleagues. But eventually hugs are hugged, cheeks are kissed, and the two pilots are left to taxi out to the runway.

    "There's more than usual."
    "Hmm?" Joli turns as much as he can while bound to his seat.
    "Pills, there's more boxes of pills. I noticed by the weight." Marc turns back to face forwards and sighs.
    "Someone worked out that the calculations were wrong, the people need way more pills than we've been giving. Way more than we have." He pauses, "There were some arguments over whether the potassium should go into more pills or helping with the drought, and well-" He looks back at Marc, "A decision was arrived at." He imitates a faux-earnest expression.
    "Dealing with states just depresses me."
    "You and me both girl." He offers her a half-smile in solidarity, his eyes reflect a quiet sadness. "The world is so fucked." They both sit there for a moment in exhausted silence before being unceremoniously snapped out of it by Joli switching on the engine "Let's get going shall we?"

The wind stays calm for the rest of the night, and then the sun comes up. In the morning a plane-shaped hole is left in the hangar. A people-shaped hole is left in the sound of the mess-hall. There are people-shaped gaps in routines filled instinctively by the community of the airfield. Voids in friendships, conversation, reassurance, accounted for without a second thought. Another plane lands and they fill the cargo-shaped hole in the warehouse. The people it carries squeeze themselves into unfilled roles that they don't even realise are there.

Somewhere on the runway a single blade of grass peeks out of the earth and bends upwards towards the sun, just a little.