Short Story #1 - "Flight"
This is a short story I've been working on in my head for months now. Just wrote it with no real thought of editing, so please keep that in mind. Enjoy! :)
Flight
I’m gripping the armrest tightly. I feel the skin stretching across my knuckles. I can see pity in the eyes of the woman across from me. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t have the foresight to see what could happen. She doesn’t believe in my fear. But I do.
We hit what I know to be a combination of air flowing in different directions and the roughness of storm clouds. I can see the storm outside my window. It brews far to the west of us, the occasional lightning burst causing the surrounding clouds to glow. But the storm is not what I fear.
I hear a creaking of metal. I can tell it comes from inside the cabin. The seats are not secured very tightly to the floor in the row in front of us. I can see the bolt wiggling as the wind bats us from side to side. I do not fear the wind.
The little light blinks from overhead, instructing us to buckle ourselves to the floating ship of metal. Being fastened to the sinking boat is not my preference, but I know they do not understand. They don’t realize the cylinder in which they feel safe and secure is nothing. In fact, it is worse than nothing because it cannot be relied upon should my fear come to be. I do not fear the vessel.
Another creak, this time coming from outside the cabin. I can imagine the sight of ripping and tearing that I know to be occurring a few feet below my feet. I look at my shoes, even though I know I can do nothing about the sound and cannot see its source. My fear is happening.
I feel more than hear the shearing of the skin of the outer surface. The time has come. The deconstruction begins. I watch it happening to the wing outside my window. Slice. Yank. Our speed is helping the elements with their fun. The metal rolls as it flips up from the front edges, then is pulled away from the surface so quickly I wonder if I imagined its presence, but of course I did not. It won’t take long now.
The ripping and slicing is now happening in all directions, above us, below us, up ahead and behind. The other passengers have begun to panic. The woman who pitied me before is now crying. The attendant is trying to reassure everyone at the same time that she struggles to fasten her own straps.
I can now feel the pull of the air outside. It hasn’t reached us yet, but it will. I know that once it does, we are doomed. No amount of straps and seat cushions will save us. Thousands of feet of air flow between us and safety. Minutes from now, we will all be helpless. But aware of our helplessness.
The little masks with empty bladders for air pop from their cubbies above us. I watch mine dangle before me. Those will not help us.
A hole has reached the inside a few feet in front of me and across the aisle. The man sitting there is attempting to fight the pull, gripping the top of the seat beside him. But he does not win.
After the hole opens up to consume the man, more follow. A woman, then another man, and another. They are pulled through the opening like toy soldiers through a vacuum hose. Up and out. And away. I know the opening will reach me soon.
I don’t want to be taken with my seat attached. Somehow I believe it will hinder my ability to survive the endless drop. I look down at the buckle that I’ve seen demonstrated thousands of times. Snap and release. I remember the words. Snap and release. But I can’t figure out how it works. My brain is focused on this one to-do item. Snap and release. I can’t do it. But I have to.
I pull at the straps, hoping their mechanism will come to me as I struggle. The hole is getting bigger. At last, I have accidentally triggered something that loosens my belt. I look down and realize I am free of it.
Behind me, I hear a scream muffled by the tiny mask. The clink of other people doing the opposite of what I’ve just done, equally baffled by the belt’s contraption. I don’t have time to shake my head at their ignorance. It is almost time. Another hole has opened up above and to my left. I see the woman with the three earrings in her right ear fold in half as she is pulled through the opening. Her bracelets clang together just before she disappears.
The woman across from me has already been pulled through the first hole. I look around me. The seats behind me are disconnected from the floor and their occupants trapped beneath them. I think about what I can do to help them, and in that moment feel the pull of the air.
My chin is knocked first against my chest, then on my knee as the hole jerks me forward, swiping me free of the cylinder. I feel the whip of the wind all around me as I am pulled into open air. Then suddenly, the chaos that was my ship is gone. I see the broken vessel far beyond where it was seconds ago. Their journey is no longer my own.
Now, for the long, endless fall. I knew this would happen. I knew the metal capsule, with its straps and buckles, would not protect me. I knew it would fall apart. I knew I would have this time to contemplate my death. So I do.
The sky is endless. We had already flown clear of the true storm clouds. All around me now are thin, white puffs. I have no control over my direction. I can feel the currents pulling and twisting me to do their will.
My skin begins to ache from the abrasive wind. My eyes are stuck in a permanent squint. My left shoe disappeared on my journey out of the hole. I can feel the air tugging on the right one. I automatically clench my toes, trying to hold onto it, but I fail. I watch it pull away from me, and we drift in opposite directions. One of my directions is always down.
Down, down. I am barely breathing. The shock to my system of those first cold waves has worn off. The shallow breaths I take are keeping me alive. I would almost rather they didn’t. I try holding my breath. But my survival instinct takes over and a rush of air escapes as I take in more.
The ground below is still unidentifiable. Everything is smudged and gray. I know that won’t always be the case. I know that soon, I will be able to see mountains and streets and rivers. I’m not sure where we were when our vessel began to fall apart.
The thought escapes as I feel a sudden draft of another wind push my head down, and I tumble over. And over. I start to spin, end over end. I spin faster. I’m starting to get dizzy. Which end is up? Does it matter?
Another shear of air pushes at my legs, and my head jerks back. The new air has steadied me. I’m now floating with my back to the ground. I look up. There is something in the distance. Another person? Part of the ship? I try to turn my head, unconsciously shifting my shoulders, and my momentum wraps me around to face the ground once more. I push my arms and legs out so I can stay in that position. Better to see it coming.
I can distinguish land below me now. There seems to be a city down and to the left and a park or golf course up and to the right. In between is a clear area that stretches through intermittent woods. It is approaching fast.
I start to wonder whether I should be doing something to aid my chances of survival. Should I attempt to curl up in a ball? Can I affect my direction to try to land on something softer? Should I aim at that lake by the golf course? I only have a few more seconds to think.
The ground is rushing towards me now. I can start to see semi-trucks on the long stretch of road and individual trees. Any second now.
Please, God, let it be quick. I close my eyes to pray.
When I open my eyes, the attendant looks at me kindly and asks if I’d like a glass of water. As if that could really help.
Flight
I’m gripping the armrest tightly. I feel the skin stretching across my knuckles. I can see pity in the eyes of the woman across from me. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t have the foresight to see what could happen. She doesn’t believe in my fear. But I do.
We hit what I know to be a combination of air flowing in different directions and the roughness of storm clouds. I can see the storm outside my window. It brews far to the west of us, the occasional lightning burst causing the surrounding clouds to glow. But the storm is not what I fear.
I hear a creaking of metal. I can tell it comes from inside the cabin. The seats are not secured very tightly to the floor in the row in front of us. I can see the bolt wiggling as the wind bats us from side to side. I do not fear the wind.
The little light blinks from overhead, instructing us to buckle ourselves to the floating ship of metal. Being fastened to the sinking boat is not my preference, but I know they do not understand. They don’t realize the cylinder in which they feel safe and secure is nothing. In fact, it is worse than nothing because it cannot be relied upon should my fear come to be. I do not fear the vessel.
Another creak, this time coming from outside the cabin. I can imagine the sight of ripping and tearing that I know to be occurring a few feet below my feet. I look at my shoes, even though I know I can do nothing about the sound and cannot see its source. My fear is happening.
I feel more than hear the shearing of the skin of the outer surface. The time has come. The deconstruction begins. I watch it happening to the wing outside my window. Slice. Yank. Our speed is helping the elements with their fun. The metal rolls as it flips up from the front edges, then is pulled away from the surface so quickly I wonder if I imagined its presence, but of course I did not. It won’t take long now.
The ripping and slicing is now happening in all directions, above us, below us, up ahead and behind. The other passengers have begun to panic. The woman who pitied me before is now crying. The attendant is trying to reassure everyone at the same time that she struggles to fasten her own straps.
I can now feel the pull of the air outside. It hasn’t reached us yet, but it will. I know that once it does, we are doomed. No amount of straps and seat cushions will save us. Thousands of feet of air flow between us and safety. Minutes from now, we will all be helpless. But aware of our helplessness.
The little masks with empty bladders for air pop from their cubbies above us. I watch mine dangle before me. Those will not help us.
A hole has reached the inside a few feet in front of me and across the aisle. The man sitting there is attempting to fight the pull, gripping the top of the seat beside him. But he does not win.
After the hole opens up to consume the man, more follow. A woman, then another man, and another. They are pulled through the opening like toy soldiers through a vacuum hose. Up and out. And away. I know the opening will reach me soon.
I don’t want to be taken with my seat attached. Somehow I believe it will hinder my ability to survive the endless drop. I look down at the buckle that I’ve seen demonstrated thousands of times. Snap and release. I remember the words. Snap and release. But I can’t figure out how it works. My brain is focused on this one to-do item. Snap and release. I can’t do it. But I have to.
I pull at the straps, hoping their mechanism will come to me as I struggle. The hole is getting bigger. At last, I have accidentally triggered something that loosens my belt. I look down and realize I am free of it.
Behind me, I hear a scream muffled by the tiny mask. The clink of other people doing the opposite of what I’ve just done, equally baffled by the belt’s contraption. I don’t have time to shake my head at their ignorance. It is almost time. Another hole has opened up above and to my left. I see the woman with the three earrings in her right ear fold in half as she is pulled through the opening. Her bracelets clang together just before she disappears.
The woman across from me has already been pulled through the first hole. I look around me. The seats behind me are disconnected from the floor and their occupants trapped beneath them. I think about what I can do to help them, and in that moment feel the pull of the air.
My chin is knocked first against my chest, then on my knee as the hole jerks me forward, swiping me free of the cylinder. I feel the whip of the wind all around me as I am pulled into open air. Then suddenly, the chaos that was my ship is gone. I see the broken vessel far beyond where it was seconds ago. Their journey is no longer my own.
Now, for the long, endless fall. I knew this would happen. I knew the metal capsule, with its straps and buckles, would not protect me. I knew it would fall apart. I knew I would have this time to contemplate my death. So I do.
The sky is endless. We had already flown clear of the true storm clouds. All around me now are thin, white puffs. I have no control over my direction. I can feel the currents pulling and twisting me to do their will.
My skin begins to ache from the abrasive wind. My eyes are stuck in a permanent squint. My left shoe disappeared on my journey out of the hole. I can feel the air tugging on the right one. I automatically clench my toes, trying to hold onto it, but I fail. I watch it pull away from me, and we drift in opposite directions. One of my directions is always down.
Down, down. I am barely breathing. The shock to my system of those first cold waves has worn off. The shallow breaths I take are keeping me alive. I would almost rather they didn’t. I try holding my breath. But my survival instinct takes over and a rush of air escapes as I take in more.
The ground below is still unidentifiable. Everything is smudged and gray. I know that won’t always be the case. I know that soon, I will be able to see mountains and streets and rivers. I’m not sure where we were when our vessel began to fall apart.
The thought escapes as I feel a sudden draft of another wind push my head down, and I tumble over. And over. I start to spin, end over end. I spin faster. I’m starting to get dizzy. Which end is up? Does it matter?
Another shear of air pushes at my legs, and my head jerks back. The new air has steadied me. I’m now floating with my back to the ground. I look up. There is something in the distance. Another person? Part of the ship? I try to turn my head, unconsciously shifting my shoulders, and my momentum wraps me around to face the ground once more. I push my arms and legs out so I can stay in that position. Better to see it coming.
I can distinguish land below me now. There seems to be a city down and to the left and a park or golf course up and to the right. In between is a clear area that stretches through intermittent woods. It is approaching fast.
I start to wonder whether I should be doing something to aid my chances of survival. Should I attempt to curl up in a ball? Can I affect my direction to try to land on something softer? Should I aim at that lake by the golf course? I only have a few more seconds to think.
The ground is rushing towards me now. I can start to see semi-trucks on the long stretch of road and individual trees. Any second now.
Please, God, let it be quick. I close my eyes to pray.
When I open my eyes, the attendant looks at me kindly and asks if I’d like a glass of water. As if that could really help.