• It was a picture perfect moment, my mother and I, sitting in the Flight 43B terminal. We were a vision of perfection -- my mother was sitting patiently, gazing out the window, and I was writing calmly in my journal. Everything's normal and perfect, right?


    My mother was really being excruciatingly paranoid about the plane not having taxied our way yet. "What if there's a problem? What if the pilot can't make it? Andrea, my dear, you know I can't be late for this business meeting tomorrow, what if the plane is delayed?"

    Honestly, I ask you, could a mother be any more discomforting to her daughter? I mean, come now, I had never been on a plane in my life, and she decides the best thing to ease me through the process is to talk about all the things that could go wrong? Sometimes adults just do not know what to say.

    Me? Oh, I was writing in my journal alright, but not about the cozy time I was having, sitting in a two-cent chair in an air conditioner assaulted airport. No, I was busy writing about what could happen that day. In particular, if you really want to know, I was writing a story about an airplane crash, and how the wing gets struck by a brilliant flash of lightening and all of the screaming passengers plummet in a murderous spiral towards their death.

    Your not one for superstitions, are you? Bad luck and all? Well, neither was I.

    When we finally got in our 10-cent airplane chairs that had cozy looking -- but highly not-cozy -- metal headrests, my mother had calmed down only a smidgen. She had started to rant on about the service of the attendants, and how they now charged people money to even buy water. She mentioned something about dehydration and a lawsuit, but my iPod was already blasting music into my ears, and the only thing I paid attention to, was the flurried movement of my pencil in my book.

    I was just writing the part about how there was an error of communication, and as they were flying over the ocean, an unknown hurricane was speeding towards them.

    I hardly noticed as we took off, and it wasn't until an hour later that I was pulled away from explicitly creating the barrage of luggage falling from the storage compartments and onto the passengers. It was a dull sounding voice that spoke to me.

    "Hey, wanna beverage?" I looked up. A not-so-friendly flight attendant was leaning nonchalantly against the edge of her cart. And I thought they were supposed to be chipper and smiles all the time, jeez.

    "Nah, no thanks." I told her. My mother basically said the same, but what she said was more “articulate”. The break from writing was accepted by me with good graces. In fact, my wrist was starting to cramp up anyway, so I took a look around to ease my mind.

    To the right of me, was a young couple. They held each others hands tightly and gazed lovingly into the others eyes. Gag.

    A row behind them was an old woman and presumably her granddaughter who looked to be about 8 or 9. “Did you bring my knitting needles and thread, dear?” The elderly woman was asking.

    “Yep!” The little one replied happily. “I put it right in my carry-on bag.” There was some movement, and the child produced two needles and a ball of twine. She handed it proudly to her Grandmother, who laughed.

    “Dear, this is twine, not thread.” She said. But upon seeing the child’s face fall to sadness, she said: “But thank you very much. I am sure it will work just fine.” The kid smiled again. I turned my head back to my row, and looked out the window. Man, sometimes little kids can be just straight out bipolar.

    My open journal tempted me, and I took my pencil to it again. I was just near the climax point, where the plane begins its furious decent. Before I could do anything though, a terrible sound filled the air, accompanied by a sharp flash of light. It was as if a bear was roaring and clawing at the side of the plane. Several people screamed, and many rushed back to their seats and buckled in frantically.

    Some people rushed down the aisle towards the cockpit. A scared voice filled the air.

    “Attention passengers of the plane. The left wing has been struck by lightening, and the engines are down. Everyone buckle in and enact safety measures!” It was clear from his voice that there really wasn’t any hope for survival, and all of the people on the plane were either crying or screaming their lungs out.

    Except for me. I looked down at the journal in my hands with a blank look of shock on my face, and flipped back a couple of pages. I read the story as chaos erupted around me.

    Imminent death forced everyone into a chaotic jumble. The relentless winds berated the cabin, and the storage doors flew open and luggage fell upon the frantic peoples’ head.”

    At that moment, the plane lurched to the side and half of the storage compartments emptied their bowels onto the passengers. A screaming flight attendant was knocked to the ground by a particularly heavy bag. A man from a nearby seat pulled her out of the aisle, and away from the barrage of items.

    The flight attendant rushed up the aisle towards the cockpit in an attempt the give assistance. But she was struck down half way there by a navy blue bag that contained a multitude of heavy metals. A heartfelt man pulled her to safety, perhaps saving her life. He may have saved her then, but nothing short of the hand of God could save them all from the fiery crash that was about to come.”

    I turned to the next page, my hand shaking – blank.