“You may now remove your seat belts.”

My plane was airborne, and it was definitely too late to turn back now. I am usually a pretty daring person, but not when it comes to planes. Flying is one of the few things my brother, Mark, can tease me about. There is just something about a steel-tube-with-wings that doesn't sit well with me. Truthfully, planes are fancy, flying cells 2000 ft. above the ground. I only forced myself on the flight in order to get to my first semester at Stanford University on time. My parents bought the ticket and told me to grow up and quit worrying. I had no choice but to get on the plane, and now I have to endure it.

“Excuse me?” I said to the passing stewardess.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Could I have a coke, please?”

“Ye—,”she began to reply, but was cut off by the passenger next to me.

“Oh, may I have a tea?” asked the old lady.

“Of course, I’ll be right back with that.”

“Hello dear.” The words were followed by a sweet, grandmotherly smile.

“Hi, I'm Elise.” I shook her hand, returning the smile.

“My name is Gloria, are you nervous? Well don't worry honey, we’ll be alright.” It was a simple enough reassurance, but I got the feeling that there was a long story following it, and I decided to get away while I had the chance. Excusing myself, I rose and walked to the restroom— if a square room no bigger than two people could even be called that— but before I reached it, I overheard a whispered conversation.

“No! Not yet. We have to wait until the plane is over Maryland, then we move. Stick to the plan, Khalid,” ordered a harsh voice.

“Whatever.” This voice was deeper and had a distinctly Middle Eastern accent.

Two men emerged from the refreshments area and brushed past me. Both were clearly from the Middle East meaning I was right about the accent. More importantly though, what did that man mean by ‘then we move’ and ‘Stick to the plan’ the odd statements plagued my thoughts as I entered the small bathroom. I was still there when the pilot made an announcement. “We are now over Maryland and expecting clear skies ahead.”

Well I guess I was about to find out what those men meant. I moved to leave the bathroom when a familiar harsh voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Nobody move!” It was the same man from before, except this time, he was threatening me and my fellow passengers. As I emerged from the small compartment a big hand grabbed my arm, spun me around, and pressed my back against the wall.
“Where are you going?” He was tall and muscular, but with a face only a mother could love. I decided it would be my best interest to keep this thought to myself.
“B-back to m-my s-seat,” I threw in the stuttering for good measure. I just couldn’t accept my situation. I mean really, the first time I get on a plane and somebody tries to hijack it!
“Move faster,” he ordered. It was only as I sat down that a depressing realization made me slump in my seat. My life was over. I would never see my family again, or climb Mount Everest, or get married, or even have my own family. None of my dreams would ever, could ever, possibly come true now.

The phone in my pocket vibrated, startling me. I bumped my elbow on the chrome arm. It was my brother— he always did have bad timing. What if the terrorists heard it?
“Hello?”

“Hey Elise. How's the ride so far. No shaking, no diving, no emergencie—,” I interrupted him right there. He was practically shouting, and yes, there was an emergency.
“Mark, my plane has been hijacked by terrorists. I’m so scared,” I whispered.

“Your p-plane's been hi-hijacked? Are you serious? There is only one reason terrorists would hijack a plane and that is to crash it...”his voice petered as he realized what I already had. I wasn't going to make it off this flight alive, none of us were.

“I'm guessing you already know what could happen,” he told me quietly. His voice was pure anguish. “So let me tell you that there is no one in this world that I love more than you. I will not stop until I find all of these men and kill them.”
“I love you too.” There was nothing more for me to say.
“Elise?” Something else seemed to have occurred to him, “If they are crashing your plane, then what do they plan to hit?”
I hadn't gotten that far in my thinking yet, but he was right. It had to be something big like the White House, Pentagon, State House, or Congress. It could be anything. Well, there was a terrorist a few rows in front of me, and I had nothing more to lose so why not ask.
I stood up slowly, and that simple action got me all the attention I wanted. “What exactly do you plan to hit?” I asked snidely.
A gun was jabbed into my gut. “Why do you want to know?” He towered over me and spoke perfect English.
“I just do.” Again with the nastiness.
“The White House,” he sounded almost smug.
Oh My GOD! My arm gripped the top of the rough seat almost hitting the shocked passenger seated there. The White House!! Who were these guys? I stumbled back to my seat, feeling the man’s eyes glaring at my back the whole time. Finally he turned away, and I turned to retrieve the cell. Before I could grab it, Gloria’s hand appeared in my line of sight, and I turned to see her staring at me.
“You have outside contact? Can you call someone who can tell us how to take these guys down? We may survive this thing.” The false hope filled her voice and was visible in the depths of her eyes. I could only nod.
“Mark? They're going to hit the White House,” I murmured quickly.
A gunshot echoed, and the first body hit the floor. After a few moments of silence, screams began to fill the air and the crying began. The phone dropped out of my hand and bounced on the carpeted floor. I just stared, and then quickly snatched it up. The body was in the front and appeared to be a crew member, maybe the co-pilot. They were men with guns, who had clearly trained for years based on their English, and who were planned to—no were going to— hit the White House. How could we stop them?
“I have to call you back, Mark.” I closed the phone and slipped into a pocket.
There were only two terrorists in the cabin now; the other two were in the cockpit. The two in charge of guarding us, were at the front, conversing in their native tongue with their backs to us. Now all I had to do was communicate with the other hostages.
“Gloria, we need everyone to know what is going on,” my voice muffled by the sweatshirt I had just covered myself with. “Have any ideas?”
“Y-yes,” the poor woman stuttered, obviously scared to death. “We should pass a small note between the seats. Telling the other passengers our plan and ask them to slide down in their seats if they agree. Do you have any paper?”
“I do,” I had to stretch to reach the paper that was in my handbag under the seat. Sifting through my possessions, I found my hairdryer. I had put there after Mom had told me that it would get broken in luggage. Good thing I had. It would make a great weapon. Finally I found some paper and a pen. “Here write it quickly.” I said to Gloria, handing her the items.
When she had finished she slid the paper through the seats onto the shoulder of the man in front of us. He turned, his eyes displaying his fear, and he quickly read the note. He showed the passenger next to him and both of them slid down in their seats so their heads were barely visible. Five minutes later our entire row appeared to be empty. Glancing across the aisle, I saw that those passengers were slouched as well. All thirty-three passengers were willing to give up our lives to protect our country and our president.
“Alright, now we need to give the signal,” I ordered, but my voice shook, and for the first time I truly understood what we were about to do.
I dropped the coke can and all the passengers sprang forward and charged at the terrorists. Shots were fired and several people fell. I saw one terrorist drop to his knees as a man and woman slammed into him from behind. The second terrorist kept his finger on the gun’s trigger and his back to the wall of the refreshments area, but he didn’t see the stewardess behind it with a tray. He fell onto his companion and while the two were being tied up we forced our way into the cockpit. However, the terrorists fired round after round at us and the people in front of me quickly fell as bullets flew out the cockpit door. The plane suddenly shifted to the left and the drop sent my stomach flying into my throat. Everyone held on for dear life as the plane spiraled toward the field below us. Bullets must have gone through the windows because we were losing altitude fast.
In the cockpit a nearby control tower was calling out to the now dead pilots. I put on the headset and gave a simple six word order. “Tell our families we love them.”
The ground was only a few hundred feet away and as I was thrown back and forth, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. It was probably Mark, but I knew I would never find out…

Flight 93 crashed in a Pennsylvania field. There were no survivors; thirty-three passengers and seven crew members died that day along with four men that were part of the Al’ Qaeda terrorist group.