Premise
My story starts with a plane crash.
Planes didn’t always scare me. Just a piece of metal to get me here and there—that’s all. But maybe because my family flew so much, or maybe because it simply sounded dramatic, I started to wonder if my “time had come”. Mom told me that wasn’t statistically correct; the blue or red marble you randomly pick out of a hat has no bearing, she said, on the blue or red marble you’d pick next. But still, I clung to the idea that made sense to my simplistic thinking and, ever since fourteen, have been terrified of any bit of turbulence.
But I guess a part of me was never really afraid. I’d tighten my fists and squeeze my eyes shut, but I still knew that I was going to be perfectly fine. The plane would land and, in an hour and a half, I’d be unpacking and wondering if I left my phone charger at the hotel.
This is why, seven years ago today, when my plane was barreling towards the ocean, I didn’t believe it was actually happening. My mind could not possibly wrap around the idea that I was mortal. That I could die…
…Or that I would survive. Here is my story.
