It was either the violent shuddering of the main structure, or the deafening roaring noise, that woke him. Neither were welcomed and he sat bolt upright immediately anxious. The shuddering continued and it seemed like the metal would rip apart any moment. The noise continued to assault his ears, it seemed like his ear drums would explode. He half stood, half crouched, and tried to go toward the windows, stumbling and grasping at the backs of chairs he made some progress, then a shudder more violent than the rest threw him against a metal box gashing his leg.
What the actual hell is going on? he thought. What in the actual hell is going on? He knew where he was; he thought he was in a plane. This was not in itself too unusual; he did board a plane over an hour ago. There were a number of problems though; this was not the plane he boarded, this plane was clearly old, this plane was clearly going to crash, it also look like it may just fall apart before that, this plane in short was fucked.
How the hell did this happen? he thought, clearly he had no answer for himself. Got on the plane, found my seat, ate stuff, got bored, fell asleep, he mentally ran through his last memories. No where in those memories was there any clue as to how he was now hurtling through the air at god knows how many thousand feet high. He mentally cursed his situation profusely and managed to get a look out of the window.
He felt a surge of vomit and reeled back, he profusely wished he hadn't looked out of the window, the endless grey sky had made it painfully clear how vulnerably high he was, and the missing panels and rusted worn patches of metal had done a real good job of making him acutely aware of how fragile the plane was.
What the actual hell was he gonna do? he thought frantically, and steadfastedly refused to listen to the part of his brain that cursed less and embraced realism a little more, that said there is absolutely nothing you can do, you are most likely going to die.
I can't die, the more stubborn part of the now fracturing mind protested, I still got living to do, still have stuff I want to do. Why is it people complain of being bored, mope about whinging of having nothing to do, yet really there's lots of stuff they want to do when given a time limit, strange really, the time limit is always there, yet unless it's up close and in your face then it's not appreciated. He appreciated it now; his mind decided this was a good time to dwell of the insignificance of his life, how much time he had wasted, how many opportunities he had ignored, his impatient quest for the easy life, drifting in and out of relationships, it hit him in the gut and it hurt, he had nothing and no one that valued him.
"Your a narcisist! and a sociopath! One day, I really hope, one day you see yourself as you really are!" she had shouted at him. It hadn't bothered him; he knew she would be back, some day. She couldn't resist him and he would find another until she came to her senses. She hadn't though, come back, that's why he decided to fly home. He knew she would stop being silly, pretending to ignore him, if he left. She would come running back when she realised he had left for back home, she would never be able to do it without him, she needed him.
Crashing in the middle of nowhere hadn't been part of the plan though. There didn't seem to be anything to do but sit and wait for death. He was cold and in pain, and annoyed beyond measure, he thumped the metal box, it slid forward and helped by a particularly violent shuddering the box slid quickly along the gangway and it smacked into part of the metal below a window, the resulting damage included the complete removal of the window and a large part of the metal around it.
Clinging in wild panic to the seat and anything he could find, he yelped and cursed, the roaring wind gushing in through the threatening looking hole was now much louder, and the plane still flew on and on into endless grey sky.
How the hell does this plane even keep flying? It had been pretty obvious he was alone from the moment he woke up, the inside was as wrecked as the outside and he could see not just the empty broken seats but also the empty and smashed up cockpit. Surely autopilot was also broken? He focused on the deafening sounds around him, trying to work out if he could hear the engines above the roaring wind. Not only could he not hear engines he was fairly sure he hadn't heard them since he woke up. So how the hell was this damn plane still flying? There's no pilot, no engines, yet whichever gaping metal orifice he dared to look out of there was endless grey sky.
Endless grey, in every direction, no sun, only constant grey and incessant and deafening wind.
At least when he died it would be in the papers, probably even on the news, that would be good, and she would feel crap, he could picture her crying, wishing she had been nicer to him, she should even feel guilt he thought, it was, after all, her fault that he got on the damn plane. She should have stayed home, should have been good to him, he hoped he could come back as a ghost so he could haunt her, he stay would with her forever to see her suffer, he would enjoy watching her blaming herself for his death.
The plane hurtled on, the grey sky unending, each moment that passed had a judder that served to add to the ever present fear of a choice between mid air disintegration, or the inevitable crash that would bring the end.
"That's nice" muttered Janie, her sister looked up from her college work and asked what was nice.
"There's an invite, on facebook, from Julie, she's having her baby christened we've been invited, it's just so nice seeing her enjoying a nice life now you know. Best thing she ever did was leave that Tim, god he was awful, used to be so bad to her, wouldn't even let her go to the shops in the end, unless she was with him and even then he would be having a right go at her. I was there a few times before he stopped her seeing her mates" Janie said clearly there was no love lost between her and Tim.
"I know, it was awful I told her for years to leave him but she wouldn't, can't help those that don't help themselves. Glad she's alright now though, when's the christening?" said her sister who had already lost interest and had returned to her work not really listening for the answer.
"Says here the 23rd, wonder what happened to Tim" she mused "Don't think anyone's seen him in ages, didn't he move or something?
"Not sure, thought he went on holiday or something, don't know, don't think anyone's seen him since she left him, probably still going on holiday somewhere, he was always after the easy life" she mumbled as she too forgot him and had already moved on to the next facebook message.
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