Flight 737

 The air is a frozen scream, rushing past my ears in a deafening, unrelenting roar. I am plummeting, a weightless speck against an uncaring, infinite sky. Above me—barely a hundred yards—the belly of the 737 is a jagged silhouette against the clouds, its metal skin groaning as it begins its final, sickening rotation toward the earth.

I feel the biting cold clawing at my exposed skin, but the numbness in my limbs is nothing compared to the terror gripping my chest. My arms are locked in a desperate, white-knuckled embrace around my baby. She is restless, a tiny, frantic weight shifting against my chest, her small cries lost to the gale.

*Falling. Falling.*

The world below is a rushing blur of gray and green, accelerating toward us with impossible speed. My grip, slick with sweat and fear, begins to falter. I feel her small, soft body shift—a sudden, sharp movement—and then, the most terrifying sensation of my life: the gradual, inevitable loosening of her limbs from mine.

"No," I try to scream, but the wind tears the word from my throat.

I reach out, my fingers desperate, clawing at the air, stretching for one final connection. But she is gone. The space between us grows, a widening chasm of cold air. I watch in agonizing slow motion as her tiny form tumbles away, a dark speck accelerating toward the earth.

I wince, shutting my eyes against the inevitable, yet my mind is a traitor. It paints the scene in vivid, gruesome detail: the sickening, sharp crack of fragile bones; the sudden, violent impact; the smear of crimson life staining the hard, unforgiving ground.

*Falling. Falling.*

I look up one last time. Flight 737 is spiraling, a wounded metal beast carving a path of smoke through the atmosphere. The world spins, chaotic and blurred, until a jarring, hollow calm washes over me.

"Flight 737 is waiting at Gate Eleven. Will all passengers please get ready to board the aircraft as it will be departing at 5:00 PM."

The voice is crisp, professional, and detached, echoing from a place that no longer exists.

*Falling. Falling.*

The ground rises up to meet me, final and absolute 

The End.