That's Cole

Malfunction

My name used to be Cole.  I used to be sixteen.  I used to have a mother and a father, along with a little sister named Estella.  However, on June nineteenth, my plane going to Texas, malfunctioned.  

I boarded the plane at seven-twenty-three in the morning.  I said my farewells to my mother and father and I gave Estella two kisses and a big hug.  My whole family has embraced death and they accepted that if I went from New York to Texas all by myself; I may never return.  

At nine-twelve my plane malfunctioned.  

Death feels calm; tranquil.  You begin feeling numb when your heart slows down, your lungs give out, and your arteries stop pumping.  

Flight six-nine crashed at nine-fifteen.  

I died at nine-fourteen.  I was one out of seventeen who died.  Seventeen out of twenty-five died.  

Right after the plane crashed I didn’t think about where I was or why my mind was still running.  I just ran my pale fingers through my dark brown hair and thought about Estella.  Estella was six.  She wouldn’t quite understand that her older brother wasn’t coming back.  To be completely honest, I didn’t understand that I wasn’t coming back either.  

When I woke up from the eternal sleep, which wasn’t exactly that eternal, I was not at the plane crash anymore.  I was in a little green tiled room that resembled a hospital room.  In fact, I was wearing a hospital gown.  

“Oh, goody!” A womans voice gasped “You’re awake!”

She was beautiful.  She was wearing a nurse outfit and had a tattoo of water printed on her right arm.  

“Hello,” I said quietly with one million questions in my mind, but I only wanted to know one right now, “Where am I?”

The woman glared at her feet before looking back up at me, she looked right into my eyes and deadly said, “Cole Gabriel Tyler, I regret to inform you, but you,” she paused “Are dead.”

My non-beating heart dropped.