Oops, I guess I should have read more than the title. 😬
The Last Flight
The cabin looked as hollow as her heart felt as passengers moved past her first class seat with the same disjointed pace of her emotions - joy, fear, anticipation, resolve, laughter, tears, uncertainty, relaxed, and grief.
After decades of travel, it would be her last flight. She was out of options. The poisons had failed. There were no more trials. She was tired, but not unimaginative. Hospice was the reasonable choice, but who wants her last chapter to be reasonable? She refused to stop living before she died. So she chose her favorite tropical island and said goodbye…
It wasn’t the plane crash that woke up Dan Sutton in seat E12. Nor was it the fire that started immediately after. It was the chair in front of him reclined so far back it broke his neck.
Considering the damage, he felt just fine when he got to his feet and looked around.
Anyone else would be bummed to discover they died in a plane crash. But not Dan. This wasn’t his first plane crash and it wouldn’t be his last.
Lieutenant Arbor’s heart sank as they approached. She could see the signs at once. The transport ship had been hit by a wraith-bat. The traces were unmistakable: the gaping hole where the cockpit had been, the metal shreds from where massive claws had torn at the hull, the web-like acid residue where it had settled.
Arbor knew no passengers could’ve survived. She began scanning for DNA remnants for identification, trying to ignore the cheerful farewell holos, the decorations, the good-luck charms pasted on the vessel’s outside. A lot of help that had been. On the black sands, the wraith-bats ruled.
Oops, I guess I should have read more than the title. 😬
The Last Flight
The cabin looked as hollow as her heart felt as passengers moved past her first class seat with the same disjointed pace of her emotions - joy, fear, anticipation, resolve, laughter, tears, uncertainty, relaxed, and grief.
After decades of travel, it would be her last flight. She was out of options. The poisons had failed. There were no more trials. She was tired, but not unimaginative. Hospice was the reasonable choice, but who wants her last chapter to be reasonable? She refused to stop living before she died. So she chose her favorite tropical island and said goodbye…
"Flight 671"
The mysterious disappearance of Flight 671 of Florida Airlines remain to be one of the strangest episodes in the history of air travel.
The plane left Miami on December 10, 2056 for Panama City carrying about 150 passengers.
Everything went well as it traveled through the Caribbean Sea. But then it went dark about some few hundred miles south from Jamaica.
There were reports of strange patterns in the sky, no mere cloud nor squall. Communications cut out when the plane crossed over those clouds.
Even stranger was the plane’s fuselage found in Venezuela. But nothing else, not even bodies.
It wasn’t the plane crash that woke up Dan Sutton in seat E12. Nor was it the fire that started immediately after. It was the chair in front of him reclined so far back it broke his neck.
Considering the damage, he felt just fine when he got to his feet and looked around.
Anyone else would be bummed to discover they died in a plane crash. But not Dan. This wasn’t his first plane crash and it wouldn’t be his last.
Dan enjoyed the quiet time alone—
“Wow! What a ride, amiright?”
“Who the hell are you?” Dan asked.
Lieutenant Arbor’s heart sank as they approached. She could see the signs at once. The transport ship had been hit by a wraith-bat. The traces were unmistakable: the gaping hole where the cockpit had been, the metal shreds from where massive claws had torn at the hull, the web-like acid residue where it had settled.
Arbor knew no passengers could’ve survived. She began scanning for DNA remnants for identification, trying to ignore the cheerful farewell holos, the decorations, the good-luck charms pasted on the vessel’s outside. A lot of help that had been. On the black sands, the wraith-bats ruled.