Broken Wing

Don't Look Down

He sat back, breathing hard and fast. Beads of sweat came racing down his forehead as the plane ascended into the air. He couldn't breathe—any sort of short-lived breath seemed to escape him. Strapped down, fastened tightly to his doom, there was nowhere to go. This was it. There was no turning back.

"You have to get me out of here," he said to the woman next to him. She was on her phone, looking for the next song to listen to from the playlist she built. "Get me out of here!" he shouted at her. There seemed to be less and less room by the second, and he had no semblance of reality. Still, she wouldn't answer him. She didn't know what he was talking about, and she couldn't be bothered outside of a confused, snide stare.
"Is anybody going to fucking help me?!" Hysterical, now, he was gasping for air and tugging at his seatbelt. No one knew what was going on. Out of 330 passengers, no one knew what to do or what on earth was happening. Everyone was hopelessly lost, borderline terrified even.

Suddenly, the cabin starting closing in, and he had nowhere to go. He was trapped and losing breath by the second.
"I can't fucking take this anymore!" he pleased, feeling as though black button-up and sultry slacks were eating him alive. There was a thumping in his chest as he tried desperately to free himself. Everyone looked around, talking amongst themselves. Some concerned, many mainly gossiped about what a nutcase this man truly was. Finally, some brave and boorish soul from the back of the plane stepped to the plate and yelled,

Will someone fucking help him?

It was no use. From seat to seat, from person to person, everyone was strapped in and tucked in tight, ready to meet the same fate—however they took that. After god knows how long, a horde of flight attendants gathered from each end of the plane and flocked over to where he was. By now, he was screaming and thrashing in his seat.
"I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna fucking do it!"
People were afraid to go near him, but the attendants worried what could happened if he went unattended. A horde of not three, not four, but five, they all did their best to lull him down and assure him he was fine. Repeatedly, the man fired back,
"You don't understand!" Frantic, and out of breath, he kept on. "Y-you don't understand, I need to go." Anytime it seemed as though he was coming down, he'd shout at the staff and start to buck every which way.
"Sir," one stewardess begged. "Sir—please calm down. We want to help you, okay?" She looked closer, and she saw tears rushing to his eyes. Her guess was as good as anyone else's as to what exactly was going on.

"Goddamnit!" he yelled from his seat.

His eyes were fierce and red, and he had a death grip on the armrests. Sheer fucking panic began to ensue as everything zoomed by him a mile a minute. He could hear every minute of it, and he felt everything with such an immeasurable intensity. He might as well have been racing in the sky alongside the plane.
"No," he said finally, spitefully low. His eyes narrowing shut, he said it again underneath his breath. "N-no."

They each looked at him, perplexed and deathly afraid. Not for their safety, but for his—and everyone else's on the plane. They couldn't control him. No one could. Each of them closed him in to try and contain him. But, again, their efforts were wasted. He suddenly undid his seatbelt and leapt from his seat, then nearly trampled the staff and nearby passengers as he sprinted towards the door. It was then that it dawned on everyone how high the stakes really were.

"Oh my god!"

A panicked expletives and terrified gasps erupted throughout the plane as he made a break towards the exit and tried with everything in him to break the door open. He was lean in stature, but in that moment, he had the strength of a thousand horses. Again and again, he took a shoulder to the door. The staff did all they could to hold him back, but he fought each and every one of them off, his arms swinging and flailing madly.
And, on the very last attempt, he knocked the door loose and catapulted himself out of the plane—from 6,000 feet in the air. Their frantic gasps turned to blood-curdling screams. The man jumped to his death, and the pilot could no longer keep the plane afloat. They were all going to die. Just like him. He was on his way to a cold, hard and brutal death, and so was everybody else.

And, just like that, it was last call for everyone on board. It was time to say goodbye, but no one knew how. Everyone fought to find their last words amidst a sea of manic shrieking cries, all to no avail. Any final farewells, and any last wishes, were all drowned out as the plane plummeted to the ground and crashed and burned.

There on the ground lies memories, keepsakes, and an entire land of what never wad, engulfed in a blaze of cold, steel tragedy.