Irene's nails dug into her mother as they tightly embraced. Several decades later, daughter and mother separated with tears in the corners of their eyes. They passed departing words a final time before Irene trudged into place next to her father in the security line. The departing father and daughter watched their beloved spouse or mother a moment longer until they were called upon for security checking.
Irene's sadness disappeared and an excitement blossomed within her. She danced down the terminal, reaching their gate with an exhale and a squeal. Irene bounced excitedly upon her chair to the resounding tick of time.
At precisely 10:34, Irene found herself strapped into a ginormous seat surrounded on all sides by strangers. A glance to the right, assured her that she still had her father. A peak to her left, exhibited to Irene that the glorious land of England was shrinking tinier and tinier beneath the steel exterior of her compartment.
Sounds of idle chatter carried into Irene's ear. She heard a woman discussing work with someone sitting beside her, a man rapidly and harshly whispering in a strange tongue to a misbehaving youth, and a old lady talking about opera to herself. At all the conversations, Irene giggled to herself. Her father, Victor, smiled every time she did so.
Suddenly, the air encasing the plane began to shake. Passengers began to panic as the quakes continued mercilessly. Irene frightened at every unearthly howl of wind, every unexpected jerk, and every booming crash until she broke down and cried into her father's shoulder. Her father acted confident, but his racing eyes revealed his fear.
Anxiety levels gradually rose until the pilot's voice crackled over the speakers, soothing the nerves bouncing around with promises of safety. But Irene could not be calmed, for just outside the window, a churning sea of swirling black and violet clouds could be seen.
Irene's father raptly listened as the pilot informed the passengers that their trip had be recalled. Irene on the other hand, was inconsolable. The mass of looming clouds edged closer and closer as the plane took a sharp turn. Now, flying away, a calmness surged through the crowd.
There was only one soul who had not relaxed. That soul was Irene, she remained huddled in the fetal position, arms thrown across her head. This is what saved her.
Over the sparkling city of London, the storm finally took hold of the aircraft. In a spiral of death, air masks dropped, though they were forgotten in the pandemonium. A single hand reached upwards and strapped the mask over its scared mouth.
The flight 780 to Stockholm smashed into Trafalgar Square, destroying memories of past and present people alike. Hundreds stood witness to the catastophe. Among the witnesses was a woman, a woman with a daughter and husband who had been flying that day, a woman with family on flight 780 to Stockholm.
Trafalgar Square stood silent until emergency services arrived in a rush. They tore through the rubble finding not a single soul breathing. The relatives of the victims stared at the nightmarish seen. They witnessed the extraction of unrecognizable bodies.
Irene's mother wept as silently as her silent relatives. Her eyes bore through the metal and plastic willing with all her might that her darlings might be alright.
Suddenly, as suddenly as the storm struck, a voice screamed, "Look!"
All eyes traveled once again to the wreckage, where a small girl could now be observed wobbly standing amidst the carnage. A grieving mother's prayers had been answered, Irene was alive. Sophia, the mother of Irene, hollered with joy and raced to her daughter.
Sophia scrambled over scattered shrapnel and wrapped Irene in an encompassing embrace so heartwarming that the crowds screamed with joy. Irene looked into her mother's eyes, trying to find solace. Instead, Sophia recognized how shattered and broken Irene's eyes had become.
Sophia understood that her husband was dead and the daughter she knew might be lost forever.
