Violent Shudders and a Long Fall

Sometimes it feels like time is the enemy. Alister definitely feels that now, staring blankly at the words before him. He hasn’t slept yet. Or maybe he’s just gotten up. Maybe neither. Or both. His mind is in such a fog he’s not quite sure what could be true. And he stares. Do Not Enter, it reads. There’s more, and yet his mind is stuck on that. Do not enter. Why not? A figure in a suit walks past Alister. The suit is white. The figure walks up to the door and grips its handle, then pulls. As the door opens, the figure’s suit changes. Becoming a different sort of suit entirely, though also a white one. Tie and shirt vanish under the plastic of the airtight outfit, face becoming masked behind the clear sheet that sealed the face off from the world. Then the figure steps through the door, and the door shuts behind them. Alister looks down. He, too, is wearing a suit. His isn’t white, but navy blue. He can’t help but wonder if his suit will change as well. He knows he shouldn’t. The Do Not Enter sign could not be more clear. And yet, his curiosity gets the better of him. He approaches the door. With each step, the world shudders, ever so slightly. Barely noticeable, but somewhat disorienting, messing with his inner ear. As though the world itself is warning Alister about the folly of his actions. Yet he presses onwards. As he reaches the door, he places his hand on the handle, just like the figure in white had. It’s cold to the touch, much colder than air around him. Nearly freezing, but not quite, like holding a solo cup filled with ice water. Pushing down and pulling, the door begins to open. It’s a lot heavier than it looks. Light and heat pours through the door. His suit does not seem to change. THe whole of the world around him seems to shake. The light burns against his skin. He tries to let go of the door, but his hand is frozen in place, unable to ungrip the handle. In the light he sees a shape. Not the figure in white. This shape is large. Larger than human. And it begins to move as the world begins to crack around him. He gazes into the burning light to distinguish more details of the strange shape of dim light in the light. The earth itself opens up beneath him, and yet his grip is not loosened. Instead, Alister, the door, and its frame all seem to fall into the pit. And falling, the shaking stops for him. But not in the room on the other side of the open door. It seems to still be shaking, the light pushing out, burning away at the sides of the cracked earth. The shadows move, seemingly preparing the room that is too bright to see. It takes him a lot of effort, but Alister manages to pull his gaze away from the room. To his surroundings. And he sees the floor at the bottom of the chasm. Tiled, not carpeted. And approaching fast. He tries to shout a warning to the shadows in the room, but no noise escapes his mouth. Then, he feels a jolt as the door frame hits the ground first.

Alister Lamont awakens as his face hits the airplane seat in front of him. He winces, letting out a pained noise. Beside him, the older man chuckles. “You good?” he asks.

“No,” Alister complains as he leans back into his seat, rubbing the side of his face that planted firmly into the upright tray table.

The woman in the window seat informs him. “Yeah, the pilot came on like a minute ago to warn us about some real bad turbulence coming up. Hector here tried to wake you up, but you were out cold.”

Looking outside is truly awe inspiring. Lightning leaping up and striking the wing in front of them, highlighting the dark clouds that stretch around their periphery. The whole plane is shaking slightly as it flies. But they should be fine, right, Alister muses. The pilot wouldn’t have taken the plane through this storm if it couldn’t handle a little lightning. There’s a second violent jerking. “All it took to wake me up was slamming my face into the plastic,” he muses aloud as he watches the lightning dance through the dark clouds as well. Beautiful, he can’t help but think.

“If I’d known that,” the man, evidently Hector, jokes, “I’d’ve slapped you when I tried waking you up.”

“Normally, I’d say I’m glad you didn’t,” Alister replies, “But honestly, that’d probably have hurt less.”

The woman counters, “I’m glad you didn’t.” As Alister looks curiously at her, she adds, “Sorry, but you were grumpy enough getting on the plane, I don’t think you’d react well to getting slapped.”

Alister chuckles. “You’re probably right,” he says. The plane shakes once more. Alister grips the seat’s arm rests, fingers digging into the plastic. The clouds seem a bit lower than they should to him, he muses as he watches the lighting dance in the distance. Again, it strikes close, this time hitting the fuselage. At the same time the plane shakes. Hector also starts to grip the armrests. The wing seems to move oddly. Different from the rest of the plane is shaking. Like the room. On its own. “I think something might be really wrong,” Alister says quietly.

“Why?” the woman at the window asks.

“Watch the wing when the plane shakes,” Alister answers, then elaborates slightly, “It isn’t moving like it’s connected.”

She watches out the window. After a moment, the plane lurches once more. And she watches. “That’s really not good,” she says.

“Can I be honest with you two?” Alister asks.

“As long as you don’t expect me to care too much,” Hector replies as he starts to use the vomit bag as a rebreathing tool, hyperventilating into it. The woman at the window shrugs rather than reply.

Alister takes those as the okay, “I really wish I hadn’t woken up. That I’d wake up after the turbulence passed.”

“Or you wouldn’t,” the woman replies this time. That statement serves to stress out Hector even more. But it causes Alister to chuckle.

“Or I wouldn’t,” Alister repeats back to her. The plane shudders once more, worse than the last time. This time, there’s a sickening tearing sound accompanying it. And then, almost instantly, there’s a second shake, like an aftershock. The first thing they notice is the air beginning to leave the cabin. Then they realize the wing isn’t where it was. Then they see the portion of the wing impaled behind them. The alarm starts to go off, but the chaos is too much to even notice. The masks drop. Alister and the woman pull their oxygen masks on. They realize after they pull their masks on that Hector hasn’t noticed the masks. Hasn’t moved much. He’s been hyperventilating already, looks to Alister like he’s on the verge of passing out. With a nod to the woman, Alister helps to lift Hector up and clear his face, so that the woman can pull the third mask on over his face. He then holds the man up while he’s regaining consciousness. “Everyone brace for uncontrolled terrain impact,” the pilot’s voice comes over the system. They carefully position Hector while he’s waking up, then brace themselves as well. The clouds are now above them. The plane begins to jerk around as it hits many smaller objects. Likely breaking through trees. Just before they hit the ground, Hector’s eyes open up and he lifts his head to try to understand what is happening. Then they hit the ground and, despite the fact that Alister’s head is placed firmly against the seat in front of him, the slamming against the ground and then sudden stop jolts him upwards. And he feels faint.

Alister is lying on the tile floor at the bottom of the chasm. His whole body feels numb. Looking down, there is only char across his arms. His suit is entirely gone. The door is open, though he’s no longer holding onto it, in a frame that is askew planted a foot into the ground. The room behind the door has gone dark. Looking up, there appears to be almost two suns in the sky. Alister walks into the room, and it is not askew. Not like the doorway is. It is empty, save a pile of white charcoal and a small circle that seems to have fallen from the center. The room begins to drip with oily blood. Looking up, there isn’t anywhere this dark blood should be coming from, and yet it drips down from the room’s empty ceiling anyways. Behind him, he can feel the suns have moved to engulf the bottom of the chasm in cold shadow. And the shadows seem to move.

Slowly, Alister awakens. Part of the roof has been shorn, and the rain is falling into the plane. Hitting his head. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he stands up and looks around. A few others are already standing, looking for bags, or checking on family. Others, like him, are just starting to get up. The woman in his row and Hector are both still out. He doesn’t have any family to check on, and only has his carryon backpack. And he’s going to keep that under the seat,where the rain isn’t going to affect it. He turns to awaken his fellow travellers. As he shakes Hector, the man doesn’t move. As he shakes the large man, Hector’s shoulder nudges into the woman by the window. She begins to stir. Hector still doesn’t. Taking a deep breath, Alister takes off the oxygen mask. The woman looks up. “I’m guessing we crashed,” she says through her mask.

He shrugs. “Either that, or hell looks remarkably like a crashed plane,” he jokes back.

She laughs as she removes her mask. “I’m guessing Hector’s out as bad as you were earlier?” she asks.

“Yeah. you want me to check the overhead?”

She starts to shiver. “If you don’t mind. My coat’s up there, and it turns out hell is surprisingly cold.”

Alister steps out into the aisle and opens the overhead. The door that covers the overhead compartment falls as he opens it, bending what remains of the connections at the top. First thing he does is pull out his travelling companion’s heavy winter coat, which is wet on the outside, and hands it across over the unconscious Hector. As he’s trying to find a way to pull her suitcase out, she says, “Thanks, um,” and after a pause, adds, “I just realized, I don’t think you said your name in the grumpiness around takeoff.”

“I probably didn’t,” Alister admits with a smile as he starts to pull the suitcase up against the door. “I’m Alister.”

“Thanks, Alister. I’m Wren.” Alister lifts the door on top of the suitcase, resting it on the hard shell.

He begins to pull it out. “Good to meet you Wren,” he says. The suitcase pops out, and the door falls fully off swinging down to take his head off. Alister barely dodges out of the way by fully dropping to the ground, and the overhead’s door slams into an unsuspecting passenger who was yelling at an unconscious companion. Putting the suitcase on the ground, Alister sits back down and breathes out. “Okay,” he says, “So, I figure we wait for the chaos to die down a bit?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Wren replies.

From behind them someone yells a string of curses, before explaining. “No bars here.” A bunch of other people start checking their devices. Rather than really check, Alister pulls out his phone and holds down the power button. The screen goes on, revealing the lack of bars for only a moment before the power options come up. He presses the power off option. “I recommend saving your battery,” he tells Wren, though loud enough that anyone around them who were paying attention would hear.

Wren nods. “Makes sense,” she says as she turns off her phone, “You have any idea what our next step is?”

Alister sighs. “Honest? Wait for some peace, then check the cockpit. And hope people know we crashed.”

Wren feigns confusion, with a grin on her face. “We crashed? But I thought we were in hell.”