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As I stepped on the plane on that warm evening at Pinewood airways, I knew something was wrong. I boarded the plane and watched the hostesses go through the safety procedures, but there was a feeling of dread deep down inside me. I settled down to watch the in-flight movie, but I couldn't pay attention. I read my book, I listened to my iPod, but I couldn't ignore the dark feeling rising up inside me. We were halfway through the flight, miles up in the sky, when it happened.
At first I thought it was just normal for an aeroplane. You know, when the plane just descends a tiny bit and you get a weird feeling in your stomach, but it's usually nothing to worry about. But when that feeling didn't stop, on my flight home from Canada, I knew that there was something wrong. There was a hurried announcement over the intercom that there was a fuel leak, and the captain had lost control of the plane. I heard people screaming, not just children but grown men and women. I felt sick, and the world shivered and shook around me. The cabin light flickered off, and we were falling in darkness.
People were screaming and shouting around me, and I heard a child cry out longingly for its parents. Only then did I become aware of the tears streaming down my own face. We plummeted down, down, down. I looked out the window next to my seat, and my stomach lurched. We were racing downwards through the air, the clouds whooshing upwards as we passed them. I looked down, but before I could properly see, the plane rolled in the air, tumbling down like a leaf.. Suitcases and bags fell out of the baggage compartments, crushing the screams of the passengers.
I curled up in my seat, wishing that I could be home, that I had never signed up for this stupid exchange trip.
And then we hit land.
The quiet green forest around me erupted into flames, ghostly columns of orange light. The smoke crept into my throat, suffocating me, pushing me to the ground. I coughed and tried to get up onto my feet, but I felt a searing pain in my left ankle. I knew that I was holding onto life by a thread. I felt dizzy, and the flames were fading, and I felt relieved, relieved that I could finally have some peace'
I guess it was lucky that a fire brigade was passing by as the plane crashed, and they managed to save me. I have healed, after four months in hospital. The burns are gone, but I seriously hurt my ankle. I have healed. On the outside.
On the inside, I don't know if I will ever heal. I will never forget the blurred rush of screams and cries, the flames that devoured the lives of everyone on the plane. Except me,
I am unbreakable. I can stand everything that life hurls at me. But as I look at the broken pieces of others around me, I don't feel pride. I feel guilt.