He could hear everyone shrieking and crying and yelling. Don stared around him. Fear hadn't reached in yet, just shock, shock and uncertainty. People were starting to grab the masks above them, mothers were placing the masks on their children's faces and some were putting mask over the elderly. The screaming didn't stop though. He reached for the mask and pulled it over his face and held it there. He took deep breaths. Then someone caught his eye. There was a man sitting a few seats off from him. He had no mask on and was hitting the ceiling, the masks on those three seats hadn't dropped down and he was coughing violently. He was quite old. Don dropped the mask and unbuckled his belt and stumbled towards the old man, clinging to the side of the seats for support. Air hostesses were wearing their own masks and holding onto the side of the plane. He grumbled as he reached the old man who looked at him and coughed, then continued to claw at the panel. The man was frail, his hair was white and his eyes were pale blue. Don reached up to the panel and scratched at the edges, pulling at them with his finger nails. The man sank down and continued coughing. Don pounded the panel with his fist and the mask fell down. Don grabbed the mask and pulled it down to the man and pressed it onto the man's nose and mouth and pulled the band behind his head to keep it there. The man took a deep breath and looked at him and nodded. Don Turned back and stumbled to his seat and grabbed his mask. He looked out the window and that was when it dawned on him that they were all going to die. They were over the sea, they were approaching it, it felt as if they had feed falling for hours, but it had only been a few minutes. The sea loomed closer as he clung to the arm rest of the chair.
"Oh Christ..." He muttered, fear engulfing him, it drained the colour from his face.
He sat down and sunk his face into his hands. He would never see his parents again, that was where he should have been going, to see his parents again. He sat there, silent, waiting for impact.
He swung his arms around, kicking hard in the water, trying desperately to reach the surface of the water. To get some air. He beat his fists against the door, trying to get through the door, to get out of the plane, it wasn't sinking, but it was submerged. There were other people who were fighting to get out, including the old man from before. He seemed stronger, he and other people were yanking at the lever of the emergency exists. They wouldn't open, people were slowly, one by one, loosing breath. He moved back and stared at the lever, glaring at it, willing it to open. Then... it blew up... He stared at it, slat water burning his eyes, nose and mouth. Then everything froze. All the people who were fighting to get out, stopped moving. The water toped moving and he found that as he moved, the water simply separated around him, leaving air. He stepped into the air and gasped for breath, coughing up water and breathing in the clean, good air. He looked around and stared at the people around him. He sighed, He couldn't save them all. He went to the door and kicked it open, it moved easily. He didn't know what to do then, panic overran him. He screamed and sank down and hung his head in his hands.
"What the hell am I supposed to do?"
He looked up t the people and gasped for breath. He shook his head. So many of them were dead, only a handful were alive and frozen in the water, they'd die soon. He had to leave them. He stood up straight. If he didn't go, he'd die to. He moved to the door and pushed through and swam to the water's surface.
SHE PACKED THE LAST OF THE DISHES in the racks and sighed, ripping off the apron and hanging it on the hooks. The chef was in his office and the manager was with him. The dishes were washed and counter tops wiped clean. Chance took her shoulder bag and jacket put them both on, she took a breath and sighed. All the customers had left and only a few waiters were still her, including the waiter she had spoken to earlier. She took her helmet and hung it over her arm by the strap.
"Ok, well, I'm off, I have a weekend to enjoy."
"Well, as long as you come back on Sunday." The hostess smiled at her as she packed her own bag.
"Dear, you should get a car..."
"Because I can totally afford that, besides, I have my bike."
"You could kill yourself on that one day, dear."
She sighed as she went to the door at the back of the kitchen and stepped out into the night air. The alley was dark and she could hear the rats scuttling about in the trash cans. He bike was parked by the wall. She rested her helmet over her head and tightened the straps and got onto her bike. She started the engine, it roared to life. She smiled faintly and accelerated, speeding off, out of the alley and onto the road. She sped between the cars, Smiling happily, the bike was her pride and joy. She , slowed to a stop and rested against her right leg, waiting for a green light. She looked at the cars around her, there was a small boy the backseat of one of the cars, he looked at her with big eyes and pressed his face against the glass and stuck out his tongue. She laughed as his mother scolded him. The light turned green and she sped off. She got closer to her house and sped up. When she got to the building she slowed down and parked her bike in their designated space. She turned off the engine and got off her bike and put down the stand. She pulled off her helmet and held it under her arm and walked into the building and to the elevator.
"Evening Frank." She smiled at the door man and pressed the button.
"Evening, Chance." The old man smiled at her.
She stood and waited for the door to open a stepped in when it did. She pressed floor six and leaned against the mirror and grabbed the rail, her stomach dropped as the elevator took of and lifted when it came to a stop. The bell dinged and she stepped out into the passage way and walked towards her apartment that she shared with her mother and her fiancé. She found to sixty seven and started rummaging in her bag for the keys. She found them and unlocked the gate and then the door and walked in, closing them both behind her. The dining room was dark, they would probably be asleep by now, it was nearly eleven. She dropped her bag and helmet on the table and opened the fridge and started rummaging around for something to eat. She found some ready cooked veggie burgers and settled for one of those. She took the tub and put it down on the counter and retrieved some bread from the basket and made herself a burger. There was no meat in the fridge , both her and her mom were strict vegetarians and Jason, her mother's soon to be husband, was making an attempt at it and not doing so well. She put the burger on a plate when she felt something brush against her leg. She looked down at their cat, Mocha.
"Hello girl... are you hungry?"
"Yes yes..." She broke off a piece of bread and dropped it on the floor. Mocha ate it quickly and looked up at her with big eyes.
"No more food."
She walked to her room and got ready for bead.
THEY SPENT HOURS BEING QUESTIONED BY THE OFFICER, they told the children that they weren't being questioned, just interviewed. Josie wasn't stupid, they knew she knew what happened. His body was so broken, there wasn't a single bone what wasn't broken in at least two places. The walls were cracked, windows shattered, bullet holes lined the floor of the room. And of course they didn't dare take notice of the bruising on her face and the scars lining her back, Peter, his wounds were internal, memories and visions, horrific dreams pulled him out of sleep every night, forcing Josie to lie next to him every night so that when he wakes, he won't have to wonder through the dark house looking for her. But her pains were so visible even the blind knew they were there, but where did she get them? Her father would never hurt her, he was a strict Catholic, he spoke to people everywhere about their faith, hitting his daughter is a sin, he'd never do that. These thoughts ran through the officers mind as he walked out of the room, leaving Josie and Peter alone in the dimly lit room to ponder their thoughts. Peter sat next to her, holding the sides of his chair, his face turned to her. He looked so confused.
"You told him you didn't see... but we both saw..." He spoke in a quiet, pained voice that seemed so desperate that she didn't know how to respond at first. She looked into his pleading eyes and sighed.
"Don't say a thing about it, do you understand. We are going to tell them we don't know what happened, because we don't know at all, do we?"
He shook his head then looked down.
"I... I did it."
"We don't know that. So we don't say, it."
He looked back up at her, his eyes glittered with tears. He was so confused, It hurt Josie, seeing him so hopeless, they're both hopeless.
The blanket over her body was cores, made of some artificial shit. Josie pulled it around them both, her eyes dropping. Peter was already in a dream world, mumbling to him self. He hoped it stayed this way, when his dreams were really bad he would wake up and half the furnisher would be hovering in the air and Josie would spend two hors calming him down and, if worst came to worst, duck taping some of the heavier objects to the floor so it didn't rattle around all night long. He seemed ok, though she doubted it would last long, he had such a bad time, the odds are, the horrors of sleep would rear their ugly heads and force him to make life hard for them both. They were on a couch in a office, the lights were off but though the window she saw the light of a different cubicle and even hear people murmur. She hugged him tightly and looked down at his head. There had been a huge gash there just twenty four hours ago. A gash that nearly killed him. Their father, he was angry you see, in one of his mad, dunked fits that only the two of them ever saw. Images of him rose in her memory. He wore old boxers and a dirty white sweat shirt. His hair was a matted mess that stuck to his sweaty face. He stank, stank of bear and cigarettes, he smelt the way he did when he didn't have church in the morning. His regular smell. His eyes were bloodshot and cold and his face was twisted in a terrible sneer as he lifted Peter off the ground. Josie, she screamed bloody murder when he did this, pleading, tears raining down her cheeks and he rammed Peter into the wall, the bone shattering thud as his ribs broke, then he simply threw Peter, right into the living room wall. The sound them was more heart breaking, as he dropped to the floor, limp. His head stained with freshly spilled blood. Josie didn't know what happened then, but her hands found her mother's stain glass vase. She hadn't meant to but her arms pulled down the vase over his head. He dropped to the floor, motionless. Part of her hoped he was dead as she ran to Peter's side, shaking him and turning his over hi her arm as he stained her dress in blood. He was breathing. She could se his chest rise and fall in such small movements. She cried with joy as her hands rested on his chest, a familiar tingling ran along the palms of her hands. In about two minutes his eyes fluttered open. She had sighed with relief and gathered him into her arm and held him there. He was still, confused but alive and well. She looked over at her father and bit her lip. He gave a grunt and pushed himself up onto his knees, he glared at her, blood trickling down from his head. Josie closed her eyes and pushed Peter away and shifted so that her body was in front of him. Her father was trying to stand, he used the wall to drag himself up, leaving blood on the wall. He rose up and balanced mainly on one leg. He bore his teeth at her and moved towards her. She stood up, saying nothing. She had no energy left to fight. He stood in front of her and grabbed a handful of blond hair and yanked her hard and began the beating. She squeezed her eyes shut. He threw fists and kicks at her and soon her legs gave way and she was on the ground. Trying to push him off her and his hands tore at her clothes. She began to cry. In the distance she could hear peter shrieking, crying and shouting. His belt came off and soon his pants.
"No, please, no." She sobbed. He wasn't listening. She kept those eyes closed. Not wanting to see him defile her. He laughed and spat at her. She instinctively tried to wipe it away but he grabbed her hands and pinned her to the floor. She gave wild cry, twisting to get away. Then it stopped, his hands moved from hers and she no longer felt his body over hers. He gave deafening cry. She opened her eyes. He was still above her, though suspended in mid air. His eyes were wide with terror. She scrambled away, her eyes fixed on him, her mouth open.
"What is shit witch craft?" He shrieked, flaying his arms and legs. She pulled herself away and turned to her brother. He was silent, glaring at him with cold blue eyes. Josie pressed her hands to her eyes, there was blood in them, if it was hers or his she wasn't sure. She heard crashing and smashing mixed with his blood curdling cries and the shattering of glass. Josie sobbed softly as it continued, no longer capable of stopping it. She rolled onto the floor. Soon it stopped and she could feel Peter standing beside her. She opened her eyes and looked around the room that was now in ruins, with their father lying broken in the middle of the room, not breathing. She stood up and gasped from the pain in her body and sat back down and pressed her hands to her worst injuries. When she was ok she stood up again and took Peters hand and moved towards the body on the floor and bent over it. She breathed deeply. Her thoughts reeled as she contemplated bringing him back, than maybe he wouldn't hurt them again. She doubted it. It wasn't hard to find a solution. He would stay dead.
She woke up in mid air and began to panic. Peter was in a bad nightmare