Savannah Clinton

1-14-15
A4
Plane Crash Prompt
I slowly opened my eyes, which immediately started to sting. Tears clouded by (my)
vision; there was smoke, and a lot of it. Through the smoke, I could just barely make out the
source. Twisted hunks of metal, vaguely resembling a large passenger plane, were blazing. There
was a terrible stench of burnt leather, and something much worse underlying it. I stared dumbly
at it for a moment. Then I slowly moved my eyes from the burning horror to look about. There
were things lying along the ground beside it, some half immersed in the wreckage. As my eyes
adjusted, I realized what they were. The passengers. Bodies littered the ground, so broken they
barely looked human. Some were on fire, flesh and bone melding together under the heat, skin
blackening and curling. I struggled to my feet, mindlessly walking toward the plane. As I
approached, I came to a terrible realization; they were all children. Their faces were the worst,
wide, unseeing eyes staring up at me from small faces. Those closest to the plane hadnt even
faces anymore; they were like faces of wax dolls that had been held too close to a candle. I
turned away from them, from the flames, the stench, and those terrible dead eyes.
Numbly, I gazed at my surroundings. My mind struggled to meet reality, unable to cope
with whatever had happened. Perhaps I had been a passenger, but I couldnt possibly have
walked away from a crash like that unscathed, could I? Thats when I realized I hadnt. I suppose
that was simply the point when shock had worn off enough for me to really grasp what was
happening. Pain blossomed before my eyes and I hit the ground, clinging to consciousness. I was
sure I had broken ribs, and my wrist was at such a terrible and unnatural angle I couldnt even
look at it, much less move it. Bits of the plane were embedded in my skin, blood spilling down
my arms to pool in the sand. Before that night Id never really seen blood. I knew that if I
survived, Id never forget it.
I looked up, toward the horizon. The impact had caused memory to abandon me. I didnt
remember the start of the war. I didnt remember my older brother being drafted, or screaming
for the military men who came to the door to go away and not take my brother. I didnt
remember being sent away with the other children to escape the fighting. Even the missile that
downed our plane escaped my remembrance. I wasnt able to appreciate the bitter irony; we had
been sent away to escape the violence, and yet we found only death. I managed to crawl a few
more feet, and felt the tide lapping at my knees. I watched, fascinated, as the sun was slowly
sank behind the waves, coloring the water as if it were stained with blood.
Editing by Tammy Clinton