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Description
"Why? Why did i do it? I didn't even need to leave. I could have done it all from home. I'll probably never see any of them again..." His thoughts were random and somewhat unrelated to one another "Still had payments on the car, and mortgage on the house. I forgot to feed the dog before I left, that won't end well..." A vast blue wall of near unthinkable size splattered with intermittent splotches of white rushed towards him "And how will they pay for this I wonder? I left them no money, I didn't even write a will. I wonder if that memo I sent out at work reached everyone...." Wind whistled past him, ripping at his clothes as he and the blue wall continued to get nearer to each other with every passing second. "How did it all happen..." he replayed the past few day's events in his head. His boss had called him to go to a business meeting in London, but he didn't HAVE to go, he could just stay in the office in New York and communicate with them via a web conference, and he wouldn't get much pay for it either way, "But hey, what the hell?" he had thought "A free trip to London? Why not?" he had told his friends, his co-workers, bragged about it to his rival in the office, told his neighbor, everyone he knew, he was proud to go to London. Then the day came, first class on Flight 119, straight shot to London Heathrow Airport, he'd be arriving that night. After finally getting on the plane things became a blur of action and sound, someone had pulled a gun and threatened to "permanently end service of this particular aircraft", he panicked, noticing briefly in the back of his mind that the terrorist was surprisingly articulate. A shot had been fired, probably to force silence on the passengers to the pilot could hear the hijacker's demands. But evidently, a shot fired in an airplane ends up with mass panic. He noticed someone else rushing towards the blue wall with him, causing his train of thought to skip, this second person smiled like a madman and gave him the 'metal fingers,' sticking his tongue out like Gene Simmons, before streamlining himself, leaning forward, and shooting towards the wall below. Back to the past now. Panic. Screaming. The oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling. A mother hyperventilating while trying to fit her child with one. A young man near the back of his class seemed completely disinterested, staring out the window. One would have thought he had died of shock, if not for a silent tear that slowly made its way down his cheek. Somehow, in the turmoil caused by the gunshot, an emergency door had been opened, and he had been sucked out of it. Now here he was, careening towards the Atlantic at one-hundred seventy-six feet per second. The clouds were all above him now, and a gray rectangle appeared on the wall below him.

The rectangle of gray grew as he flew down to it, for a moment, the hope of salvation existed in his mind. But it was quickly erased with a sudden flattening of his mind and body, and a red mist on the deck of the aircraft carrier.

Description
"Why? Why did i do it? I didn't even need to leave. I could have done it all from home. I'll probably never see any of them again..." His thoughts were random and somewhat unrelated to one another "Still had payments on the car, and mortgage on the house. I forgot to feed the dog before I left, that won't end well..." A vast blue wall of near unthinkable size splattered with intermittent splotches of white rushed towards him "And how will they pay for this I wonder? I left them no money, I didn't even write a will. I wonder if that memo I sent out at work reached everyone...." Wind whistled past him, ripping at his clothes as he and the blue wall continued to get nearer to each other with every passing second. "How did it all happen..." he replayed the past few day's events in his head. His boss had called him to go to a business meeting in London, but he didn't HAVE to go, he could just stay in the office in New York and communicate with them via a web conference, and he wouldn't get much pay for it either way, "But hey, what the hell?" he had thought "A free trip to London? Why not?" he had told his friends, his co-workers, bragged about it to his rival in the office, told his neighbor, everyone he knew, he was proud to go to London. Then the day came, first class on Flight 119, straight shot to London Heathrow Airport, he'd be arriving that night. After finally getting on the plane things became a blur of action and sound, someone had pulled a gun and threatened to "permanently end service of this particular aircraft", he panicked, noticing briefly in the back of his mind that the terrorist was surprisingly articulate. A shot had been fired, probably to force silence on the passengers to the pilot could hear the hijacker's demands. But evidently, a shot fired in an airplane ends up with mass panic. He noticed someone else rushing towards the blue wall with him, causing his train of thought to skip, this second person smiled like a madman and gave him the 'metal fingers,' sticking his tongue out like Gene Simmons, before streamlining himself, leaning forward, and shooting towards the wall below. Back to the past now. Panic. Screaming. The oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling. A mother hyperventilating while trying to fit her child with one. A young man near the back of his class seemed completely disinterested, staring out the window. One would have thought he had died of shock, if not for a silent tear that slowly made its way down his cheek. Somehow, in the turmoil caused by the gunshot, an emergency door had been opened, and he had been sucked out of it. Now here he was, careening towards the Atlantic at one-hundred seventy-six feet per second. The clouds were all above him now, and a gray rectangle appeared on the wall below him.

The rectangle of gray grew as he flew down to it, for a moment, the hope of salvation existed in his mind. But it was quickly erased with a sudden flattening of his mind and body, and a red mist on the deck of the aircraft carrier.