This is yet another short story I wrote for my series.
Six hours, fifty nine minutes and seventeen seconds later, and I'm still not in Italy. My family lives in San Francisco, California and we on our way to Italy for our saving-up-for-three-years-and-we-still-can't-even-buy-tee shirts-at-the-airport vacation. I am really excited to see the Coliseum the Leaning Tower of Pisa and, most importantly, going shopping in Venice! All four of us are really into museums, too, so we're probably going to go to a million of those. My little brother and I start a conversation with the crazy lady sitting behind us, when we hear a POP. This wasn't just a little pop like in a Rice-Krispies box, it was a like a clap of thunder POP! The plane begins to shake and bump and twist and turn, but no one really knows what's going on. Several flight attendants tell us to "remain calm", but how can we? I begin to count, merely to calm me down from this stressful situation, but then I realize that I'm counting the seconds until I die. Eight, nine, ten, eleven…my mind forces me to continue to count, thirty one, thirty two, thirty three…our plane begins to fall faster than I imagine it should be able to, fifty two, fifty three, fifty four…our plane is nearing the dark, ocean below us, four, three, two…I'm remembering all of my friends, family, and memories of my childhood. One.
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