Deedee Rich

Seconds to Milliseconds

The deafening grind of the propellers split our ears like a rusty bike spoke. Death was upon us! Bouncing around in our seats like puppets, out popped little golden emergency mouth pieces dangling from the ceiling of the plane. Presumably, three rolls down, and two seats to the left a woman sat struggling viciously with her life vest. Mass hysteria painted on her face like distorted make-up she held her belly tight. Her round belly refused to be strapped in. A pool of water collected in her eyes an streamed down her cheeks as her husband forced the vest closed. “Is she pregnant?”, a passenger asked. His teeth chattering loudly as he murmured, “She’s due any day”, you could sense the worry in his tone.