And Then I Saw It

Everything changed the day I went on the plane. It could’ve been different. I should’ve known what was to come.

It all started with my parents' idea to fly me across the world. I was six years old. I had never been on a plane before, but it was my only choice. We weren’t welcome there anymore. They were looking for us. We took what we could, which wasn’t a lot, but it was at least more than nothing, like Aunt Gina. She tried to escape, but someone stopped her. We don’t know who. But she’s six feet below ground and gone. We had to leave, so we took the first plane out of Houston, heading all the way to France. That was the only place we could go. Nowhere else. Everyone else wanted us. They wanted to take us away. They wanted to make sure we never saw the light of day again. But France for some reason was the only place that would welcome us. We had to escape, and had everything planned. We had all of our bags packed. We had a house rented. Mom had a job designing clothes, and dad had one designing buildings. We were all set, except for one factor; will we survive the plane ride? Mom had previously flown on a plane once, but had to get off because people would notice her. Everything was going amazing, both through the airport and the first 4 hours of the flight. Our fake passports got through TSA, but with a warning to keep them in good shape; they had stuff all over them. We all slept and had food and kept to ourselves, hoping no one recognized us. I was asleep until I jolted awake, as we headed into the fifth hour, when everything changed. Everyone was asleep, except for me. That’s when the plane started to violently shake.

No one noticed; it seemed like everyone was in a trance. The shaking got more consistent and harsh, making the few people awake start to worry. The captain came over the speakers with a worrisome voice, saying, “Nobody panic. We are experiencing some light turbulence right now, but it should clear up soon. In the meantime, please buckle your seatbelts and stay calm.” That’s when we knew; something was wrong. I tried to talk to someone who was awake about it, but no one was listening; they were too worried. The pressure started to drop almost immediately, the oxygen masks falling. I didn’t listen to the safety instructions. I tried my best to get it on. I tried to wake my parents, but they were unconscious, so I put masks on each of them. I felt the plane drop as soon as I put my mask on, and it felt like we were all flipping over. And over. And over. Finally, we felt everything stop as the plane started to sink in the water. I thought I was doomed. The slides departed from the plane as we all started to rush out. The rafts were waiting for passengers to fill them as we filed out into the water. I got onto a raft first and waited for my parents, but only dad came out.

“Where’s mom?” I yelled over everyone’s screams. Dad shook his head. “DAD!” He started to shake. “Dad please. Tell me she’s okay.” Still no answer. I remember thinking how it wasn’t possible that she was too far gone. But it was too late. People gathered into our raft as we tried to paddle away from the wreckage. We paddled, taking turns every hour, for days. Days and days and days. Eventually, after god knows how long, we saw the outline of an island. Everyone on our raft who were sleeping was woken up as we all paddled to the island. We got to shore and collapsed onto the sand, me and dad holding onto each other tightly. I started to cry. Mom’s gone. Dad wiped away my tears as he held me. Everyone went with their families to find help, but I stayed on the sand with dad. We held each other for a while, not letting go. It reminded me of The Titanic. I remembered having the privilege of watching movies like that. I remembered having the privilege of doing things without worry. But things would be different. I would gather food and water. I would do all I could to survive. We had ten flares. We would be fine, and not there for long, right? No. Because that started my life on the island.

I’ve tried to keep track of the days, but they’ve gone by very quickly and I have lost my sense of time. It seems like only a few days have passed since I went onto that plane. I was six years old when I was flying, and I’m pretty sure I’m at least seventeen at this point, but I’ll never know. It’s been so long since I saw familiar people. Dad died of a shark attack around four years ago, and I’ve been surviving on my own, given that all of the passengers that escaped are now dead. They either died of lack of food or water, or tried to swim away, only to be met with death. They don’t know how to survive, but I do. I do everything I can to survive, whether that’s hunting animals, gathering blackberries, or sleeping in a tree to avoid the bears. About five weeks ago, I sent off our last flare, hoping that help would come. But I won’t last long. I fear I will end up like them. I fear every day of dying like my father. But all I can think about is my lack of nourishment. I’m running out of food to eat and water to drink. If I don’t figure out what to eat or drink soon, I’ll end up just like the others. I look into the distance, hoping for something or someone to appear. And then I see it. Help.