On a Wing and a Prayer

I started writing this as an entry into the SpookyMicro Challenge but soon surpassed the 300-word limit. I don't feel as though I can do it much justice if I slice and dice it down to qualify, though I might yet give it a go. So, here it is, in its original glory.

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

She’d winked at me as she'd said it. Well, that’s all well and good after I’ve just received an in-depth lecture about how to open said door, should the situation warrant it. Now, I must try not to.

No pressure. I am the guardian of the door. It’s keeper if you will. The buck ends with me... and all I wanted was a little extra legroom.

I watch the hostess saunter past in her immaculate uniform, realising I’ve already forgotten half of what she said, and we've only been in the air thirty minutes. I do know you have to push quite hard.

That’s right, Sian. If in doubt, throw yourself against the self-ejecting door. That’ll solve things. I’m supposed to wait until we land. I at least remember that much. Be awkward if you jumped the gun.

I’m suddenly very protective of the door, keeping an eye on every Tom, Dick and Harry who walks past, making sure they weren't paying it too much attention. With great power comes great responsibility and all that.

It’s not until we’re over some serious open water, with absolutely no hope of rescue of any kind, that things start to go wrong.

The captain calls for everyone to remain seated, and the seat belt light blinks on. I, of course, am already strapped in, with no intention of taking a break from guard duty any time soon.

The hostesses are ushering people back to their seats, their ordinary ones, where they haven't been entrusted with emergency protocols, in a calm but firm manner.

I glimpse the worried look they share before hurrying back to their own seats at the front of the cabin and buckling up.

I’m suddenly curious why they get four-point harnesses, yet we don’t. And they’re facing us. Surely, if it’s safer, we should all be flying backwards...

The plane suddenly shakes, dipping slightly; everything rattles. There are a few panicked shrieks from the rows behind, but nothing major. The shaking stops.

Nervous laughter resonates as people relax, relieved. I was glad people had managed to keep their cool for the sake of the children on board.

I don’t know what I felt first, the shock wave or the heat. It all happened in one quick motion. Suddenly, my head was whipping forward as I was thrown against my seat belt. Searing heat whipped past my face, licking my skin, clawing at the back of my head. The instant smell of singed hair filled the cabin.

The screaming started immediately.

The air hostesses were shouting orders to the back of the plane, but neither had gotten up. I gripped my belt as my heart thundered, wondering if there was great big, gaping hole.

I hated rollercoasters. Free falling wasn’t my thing.

As if to answer my question, the plane suddenly nosedived, throwing me back into my seat and closer to the white-hot heat behind me. My stomach dropped whilst my arms flailed in the air as we plummeted.

The engines roared as the plane straightened up with a neck-wrenching jerk as the pilot fought for control. Compartments swung open, belongings cartwheeling into the air, smashing into people, killing them instantly. My heart thundered as acid crept its way up my oesophagus. The cabin was filling with thick black smoke. The heat on the back of my head was blinding; I could feel my skin peeling.

I threw myself forward, fumbling for the release of my seat belt. My jumper tugged and tore as I hit the floor facing down through the aisle.

The fire roared from a few rows back. Hungry orange flames licked their way towards me. A heap of scrambling passengers were trampling over seats in a desperate bid not to get cooked alive.

The bright blue of my knitted jumper had melted into the fabric of my seat. I wondered why I couldn't feel any pain as I watched the horror unfold before me, frozen in fear.

I twigged the second the masks flew down from the ceiling, instantly wondering how much oxygen a Boeing 747 carried on board.

Eyes wide with terror, I looked back at the raging fire.

Fuck that.

As though I was in slow motion, I scrambled for the lever on the door, gripping it with numb hands. I could hear the hostess as she screamed at me to stop, but I had no choice.

We were all going to die.

I shoved with everything I had, my mouth filling with bile the instant I felt the door give.

I was falling, flying, if you will. Gracefully plummeting through the frigid air towards the sparkling water beneath me.

The boom from above was like nothing I had ever experienced. Or I guess I will ever again. The plane exploded into pieces, sending shards of metal and bits of people plummeting to the earth around me like a bloody, meat-filled firework.