Plane Crash

I hate flying. Really I loathe it. I've flown a lot of long haul over the years, so it has become associated with boredom and discomfort. My long legs can no longer handle the confines of economy, or risk the gamble of securing a bulkhead seat, so now I must fork out large chunks of money for the comfort that business class brings. Even then, I find it impossible to relax on a plane, much less sleep. After a number of hair-raising experiences in the sky, my dislike eventually evolved into fear. One too many forced landings, emergency returns to port of origin, and extreme turbulence have made me into a nervous flyer. Imagine my relief when COVID-19 broke and I was no longer required to fly anywhere. But that restriction is almost at an end, and with it came a dream highlighting a prevalent fear. May it not turn out prophetic.

I was on a small plane, flying out from one Chinese city to another. It was a similar aircraft to the TransAsia prototype model that crashed into the Keelung River in Taiwan in 2015, resulting in the deaths of 48 passengers. Most terrifying of all, I had my young daughter with me, her safety of which is of greater importance than my own. We took off from a small runway hemmed in by skyscrapers, and no sooner had we cleared it than one of the wings scraped the side of a tower and twisted the plane sharply out of its skyward trajectory. The pilot informed us that we did not have time to gain enough altitude, so would be forced to make an emergency landing. My nails dug into my sweaty palms as I held my daughter close and struggled to control my breathing. The pilot managed to align the plane along a main road, bearing low towards the ground, searching for a place relatively devoid of traffic where he could touch down. The wings were too broad for the narrow pass however, and their tips received another scraping from the flanking buildings. Sparks flew, traffic screeched out of the plane's path, but we ground to a bumpy halt with no more damage than our frayed nerves and some buckled wings.

We were shuttled back to the airport on a coach, then it was a long and tedious layover period whilst a replacement plane was sourced for us, during which time I lolled around the terminal lobby with a bored child. When it was finally time to board, many of us were dismayed to discover that it was exactly the same plane as before. We were reassured that it had been fixed and deemed flight worthy, yet once onboard, it became apparent that the pilot himself was far from convinced. It was another long wait before we were eventually able to take off. In that time, I got to know a lot of the other passengers, including a Muslim man who kept frantically praying and chanting. I returned to my seat as we climbed into the sky, and after a smooth ascent, I began to feel at ease. The flight continued without mishap, until all of a sudden, an alarm from the cockpit started blaring. The cockpit was visible to the rest of the plane, and I saw the pilot breaking down into a panic, screeching a distress message into an intercom. The plane shuddered and began to tip. Everyone screamed as we began to pick up speed and hurtle back towards the ground. I hugged my child close and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the end. Then I woke up.