United States

Flight 93-F to the Death

September 13, 2017


    All of us sat in the corner of the large hangar, solemnly staring at one another and knowing that this moment could be our last one of peace. Our mouths were pressed in deep lines, breaths heavy and with purpose. Not us. Not us. Not us. 
    The captain made his way in through the thin hangar opening, bringing word. 
    We're ready. We're ready. We're ready.
    Four seatbelts clicked into place as we shot along the runway and towards whatever fate lay ahead of us. My heart pounded in my chest, and butterflies swarmed in my stomach as we lifted off the ground. We're flying. We're flying. We're flying. 
    Fifteen minutes out, and our place jolt and shakes violently. Captains brings words of bad news.
    Engine shot. Engine shot. Engine shot. 
    Some try to jump out, but their cries of terror ring in my ears and I try to block the sounds out. My stomach rises and falls as the plane shoots towards the ground in a spiral; more try to escape the flaming plane but their attempts are in vain. 
    Darkness. Darkness. Darkness.
    I'm the only one. 
    Me. Me. Me. 
Thank you to my wonderful writing team who all pitched into this plot. 
Co-creators: Dani R., Megan C., Harshica, Angela D. 
*Sorry Harshica don't know what your last name is!*


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