Essay On Flight 11

1671 Words 7 Pages
1. The Passenger

“American Airlines, Flight 11. 9-11-2001. Economy Class, seat 32A. Boarding time: 7:45 A.M. Departing from Logan International Airport of Boston MA, Gate B32. Destination: Los Angeles, California.”
I restlessly read my plane ticket over and over. It may seem as if it’s not a big deal. Just a boarding pass, right? But this isn’t just any flight. After being in Boston for almost two weeks, the homesickness is hardly bearable anymore. It’s almost been two weeks since I’ve seen my wife, kids, brothers, office friends, neighbors, and my good, old dog. I have to be at the Logan International Airport at 6:45 A.M. tomorrow morning. I’m finally going back to everything I love in Los Angeles. I want to be asleep so badly, and
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Someone please come help!”

Oh, God. That can’t be possible, can it? No, it’s a mistake. Some crass idiot is just trying to elicit a response. It’s a trick. Or a game. Something. There 's no way that would happen here, in the middle of the sky. No one could do that. This isn’t something that happens . . . right? I’ve never heard of a plane stabbing . . . Oh God, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. As I finally get a good view of what’s happening, the man collapses and I see that his chest is covered in blood, with a long, shiny knife protruding from his chest.
Terror begins to arise on the plane as people start to panic and become petrified with fear. Passengers throughout the aircraft are yelling frantically, everyone trying to be heard over everyone else. Someone tries to help the man who lays dying in the aisle. A small child in the seat across from mine starts to sob uncontrollably, adding to the pandemonium. Just as the plane unexpectedly makes a dramatic turn to the left, I hear someone shout through the din that two flight attendants also got stabbed. A man yells that we need to find a way to contact someone on the ground. I hear an abnormal clangor from the front of the plane. A woman in front of me passes out. A flight attendant says that someone sprayed something in first class and no one can breathe, and people are starting to file in from the front of the plane. In the midst of all of this chaos, an announcement comes on over the intercom.
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I look down out of the window by my seat. Are those buildings? Everything I see is moving in a blur. Is that water? My heart beats faster and faster as we get closer to the ground. Can those people see us? Time starts to slow down. Is this the end? I close my eyes, finally arriving at the definitive conclusion that I am about to die. I can hear my heart pounding in my chest. My breathing slows down and my muscles tense. Each second drags on for what seems like hours. I open my eyes.
It’s over.
Is this what dying feels like? It’s not as bad as people say, I suppose. It’s hard to describe it. You might say that death is something like freedom. It’s so peaceful. So quiet. Nothing is stirring. As you draw your last breath, you just have to stop . . . living. But everything around is still moving. You try your hardest not to stop functioning, and then everything stands still, like in a movie that has been paused in a freeze frame. Then after that, it’s like stepping through a doorway, from here on this earth into eternity. Then suddenly, there’s no more pain. Nothing hurts anymore. Every thought clears from your head, and you are overwhelmed by a feeling of peace. Then you just slip away. It is a beautiful and unbelievable release from this life. No . . . dying isn’t all that

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