The Plane

He looked up. To his suprise, he saw an enormous plane bearing right down on him. At first, he simply passed it off as normal; this plane was just going to land somewhere close. His mind didn't think about the distinct lack of airports in the area. But then he saw the smoke. This must be some sort of mistake! He thought. But no. It was coming closer with every second, smoke spewing out the back of it as though the entire plane was burning. It probably was.

Oh god. It was heading right towards him. What should he do? What the hell! Why was this happening? He froze. The plane came closer. Was it going to hit him? He stared up at it. Yes. It was. Or was it? He couldn't tell. Should he move? Should he run? Into the trees? Would he outrun it? Shit. He had no idea where it was going to hit. Therefore he shouldn’t move anywhere just yet. Besides, out here on the field, he had a clearer view. And if it hit in the forest, he’d have to worry about falling trees and burning branches and stuff. He stood still. What the hell kind of world is this, where you can just get hit by a plane? How…how random. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. The situation seemed insanely funny, but he was going to die.

All those people in the plane. They were gonna die. Their families would mourn. The media would tell everyone about it. Was this going to be a major tragedy? Was it a terrorist hijack? Was this as big as 9/11? Or was it just some malfunction, just small news? He thought hard; was a plane crashing into a field big news? He wasn't sure. Probably. Maybe? A mention on the 6 o’clock news, surely?

He was going to die, too! It was really close now. The roar was deafening. His family would mourn. That would suck. His sister! She'd be so sad. His friends, surprised at first, then sad. The world would go on. He hadn't even left them a will. He had thought about it. Writing out a will, and leaving it someplace they'd find it after he was dead. In the bookshelf, or something. But it was too late, too late.

Some last words. He should say something. He'd get splattered any second now. He had prepared for this, actually. There was a really awesome poem he'd like to recite just before he croaked it. He began, but then realized that there was no one around, and stopped. What was the point if no one heard it? It was just him and God. Maybe God would listen. He regretted not finishing the poem. But he couldn't start reciting it again. That would ruin the entire austerity of the situation and the point of the poem.

He felt bad for his family. They'd be so sad. He himself wasn't that fussed about dying. Of course, he'd prefer to live, to have fun, to experience life. But he wasn't afraid of death. His greatest regret about dying is the effect it would have on his family and friends. Damn. It would suck, all right. Probably.

The plane was just above him now. Shit. He was going to die. The wind was buffeting his face. It was a perfectly cinematic moment. He could have run. He should have run. He had no idea how long he had been standing there, frozen. He didn't think it was too long. This plane was goddamn huge! He couldn't have outrun it. Shrapnel would have massacred him. Probably. Damnit. He should have run. Shit.

What was gonna happen now? He'd always been quite curious about death. Almost excited. No-one knew what came after death. And he was about to find out. Everyone did, but that didn't diminish some of the excitement he felt. What comes now? Oblivion? He rather hoped not. He'd prefer a heaven or another life, of some sort. It was out of his hands now. It had always been out of his hands.

Time seemed to slow down. He was almost blind; the wind was hurling dust up all around him. The huge white plane was just up ahead. He could almost touch it, he thought. He thought about his family. He thought about his friends. He thought about himself.

He ran. Nothing else seemed to matter. He just ran, and felt sure that he'd get hit by the impact any moment now. That terrible impact was hovering over his shoulder, coming ever closer. It was gonna catch him, and throw him forward like a ragdoll. Or maybe it would just tear him apart. He ran for what seemed like an age. All of these thoughts whizzed through his head, and he was amazed that he had managed to fit them all in the minute or so after he had first seen the plane. He ran. Why hadn’t it hit yet?

Damnit, he would have his last words! He thought, as he pelted across the field. Everything seemed to have a finality about it. He didn't look back, but he sensed he had only precious seconds before the plane would hit the ground. He took a deep breath, and a deep, great peace rose within him. He was flying across the field, almost, going faster than he'd ever gone before. He felt as though he weighed almost nothing.

"It's been an honour" He breathed as he sprinted, and then the plane crashed into the ground.