I feel my body pushed forwards in my seat as it accelerates. The engines blast loudly — after all, they are the ones who propel this massive plane.

I look to my brother next to me, and my parents across the row. They are relaxed, eyes half closed, blankets up to their shoulders. I should sleep too. 

I move my feet. I want to be comfortable. But the seat wants to be uncomfortable. I shift my seatbelt, and sigh. I prop my head with my right arm. And glumly look out the window. It’s going to be a long ride.

Time passes by, and it seems I haven’t fallen asleep. The light inside is dim. I feel nauseous as the plane rocks side to side, and abruptly falls from time to time, as it hits patches of unfriendly air. 

My right arm is tired of supporting my head, so I use my fresh left arm. But it meets the same fate after just a few minutes. My dislike for air travel deepens with every trip our family makes. I wish we just stayed home for vacation.

My eyes droop — I chuckle at how my body has finally given up. I doze off — all my eyes see is the cool dark expanse of nothingness that we see whenever we blink, we close our eyelids…

Then, bang! Orange and red light, blistering like fire. Yelling, screaming. Falling, falling, falling.