Forced Freefall

The Beginning...

 Hugh Flores jumps in front of me. If anything, he was taking this better than I was. He was ready to leave this world, to become non-living and isolated. To jump down and leave the world forever. But I wasn't. At least not yet. There was half a percent chance I survive this. No way, and I know absolutely no way, would luck come to my aid. Yet that did not stop me from silently pleading to whatever spirit controlled fate to give me something of a chance. To survive. But soon I know I'll be gone, as quick as I came, and there will be no way back. A parachute, I declare without words, is my last hope. The pilot is in the cockpit, and the only thing separating me from him are two soldiers. I can probably catch them off guard, and that'll give me a few seconds. The cockpit only has one parachute, but I'll make it count.

Suddenly, I snap out of my momentary trance and the taller of the two soldiers calls my name. "Isaac Jordan, male breaker number 000000099786." He put the clipboard down, and the second soldier brought it back to the cockpit. I was kind of surprised I was only the ninety nine thousand, seven hundred and eighty-sixth person to break a law punishable by death. (And I was so close to being the hundred thousandth, too. Shoot.) But the population itself won't accept execution. They think we get isolated on an island and are forced to live in our own civilization. But we get thrown out of a plane, and are forced to close our eyes while our bodies, or corpses, smash the ground and bounce. That will be our last movement. And the last thing we will feel is smashing the ground, and every bone in our body cracking.

I realize that the second soldier's gone, and in his absence I can possibly throw this other soldier out of the plane easily. So I wait until the door to the cockpit has been shut, and as soon as the soldier is ready to grab me and throw me out, I grasp his arm, and twist it until it breaks. The plane is stopped, and the abandoned, forested island below is now visible clearly. The man yelps in pain, and I muffle it with a scream I would have shouted if I'd been thrown out. The soldier starts yelling for his partner, but I cover his mouth and smash his head against the side of the plane. His hair is bloody, his nose gushing. The door is opening, and I see the handle turning as I throw the man out. The shorter soldier is running towards me, his eyes squinted in anger. But I've already kicked him in the stomach, and he's vomiting when I throw him out. The pilot has got his gun raised, still in the cockpit, ready to kill. "Put your hands up!" I hear him order, his voice magnified by the speakers on the plane. The plane's artificial intelligence alerts us autopilot has been initiated. "I said... Hands up!" The pilot is calmer now, assured that he has me under control.

He walks over to me, gun on my forehead, and we both know he'll regret pulling the trigger right away. His hand is trembling, and soon he would fumble and drop it. if I waited until then, I'd be dead. Long dead. Falling down thousands of feet because the public couldn't take execution. And the government, being ruthless dictators that do whatever they want, made crimes punishable by death even more deadly. You have to travel with a bag over your head for hours, knowing that today is your last day. There is no tomorrow. That was about to change for me. These guys would be thrown out of a plane, and I would survive. The gun against my head was vibrating. Without opening my eyes, I punched the pilot in the head, and the bullet missed my head by millimetres. A few hairs flew off. The pilot was dazed, but he would be up in seconds. That was their training: fall and get back up or you're dead. Unfortunately, I was up faster, and got the gun in a time of about half a second. "Get up!" The cowardly pilot was not experienced. The most recent "Forced Freefall" resulted in a crash. The pilot of every single one for fourty-three years died in that crash. There was a small hiatus of jumps while the government found a pilot. That was when I got arrested.

For something I didn't commit. I walked by a bank, as a robber sprinted out of it, and dropped three bills in his hurry. I picked up the three bills, which were the only money I had. Only three one dollar bills. Not much, but enough to keep me alive. I watched as the robber ran away, before a police car hit him. He had a bullet proof vest on, and what seemed like a mattress you can wear, so this only knocked him out. Later, as I was interviewed as a witness, the detectives (as clever as they may seem) arrested me, and believed I was the one resource that helped the culprit. The culprit, you may ask? Male breaker number 000000123320, Hugh Flores. He and I were paired up as 'punishment' for 'working together.' Him, being the coward he is, doesn't care if I die, and won't ever. He has clearly hit the ground now, and now I am at least more satisfied than I would be if he would have survived.