By Melody Washkevich
It’s amazing that I could still hear the screams of terror. Or maybe that was just the sound of the
speed of my fall racing past my ears. I
didn’t know how long this weightless demise would last. I was certain that I would die. You know, you hear those freak-chance
sky-dive accidents where the girl lands flat on her back, lives and turns
out...she’s pregnant. Yes, the baby
lives too. One in a fucking million. I’m not going to live.
I look up and
around me and see others falling too. A
Woman clinging to her too-young-to-die child.
An old man that looks already limp.
Low cabin pressure is my bet.
Lucky man. Many more, and frankly I don't give a shit. Pieces of the plane
and debris from the collision fall like the ground is what’s moving, not it. My tie keeps whipping me in the face and I
find it annoying. I take it off. It’s torn out of my hand by the sheer
velocity I’m traveling.
I start to do the math.
If I’m five miles in the air and I weigh 160 lbs then that would mean
that I’m traveling at 125 miles per an hour. 12,000 feet per a minute. Two
minutes to live since my body left the plane. Likely one minute now.
This flight was my ticket out. Clean slate. Fresh
start. All those damn clichés. Take your pick. No one knew what I did.
No one would ever find me if they ever discovered it was me. I’d never have to spend a day in a prison
cell held captive by my own dirty deeds. The weight of the sky would be my burden to bear for my life. This was not in the plans, however. Dying on the way out.
Quickly the blurry earth becomes more defined. I see property lines separated by different,
darker colors. Houses. Buildings. Lakes. Rivers. Trees. A few blinks and it
would be over. No one will hear my
final words but I’m too self serving to not…
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