Written for 12 year old boys, so excuse the lack of description. Perhaps pointers on how to make it more exciting? I appreciate you reading!
Mr and Mrs Keels walked onto the plane, paying the as little attention to their son, Arthur, as they could without him noticing. He was engrossed in the twelfth re-telling of his match-winning goal. This time, the goalkeeper missed the ball by a hair’s breadth, only due to the excellent curve on the ball that Arthur had kicked.
Occasionally one parent would breathe out a heavy sigh, expelling the plane’s damp, heavy air from their lungs. It was awfully humid inside, compared to the cool, air conditioned airport. Mr Keels, who had the window seat, was wondering just why it was so hot in there – outside, the weather was clearly abysmal – when the captain spoke over the intercom.
“Good evening passengers and thank you for choosing to fly with us today. The skies are calm, so we should be in for a smooth ride. If we do experience any troubles, the crew are indication the exits now…” The crew waved their hands as the pilot continued to go through safety procedures that had been spoken billions of times before. Mr Keels was tuning it almost as easily as he tuned out his son.
Arthur, sitting in the middle of his parents, was rummaging through the pocket in the back of the seat in front of him. After retrieving a laminated card, he began to pour over it. He reminded himself that, even though he had flown once before – on the way to the soccer tournament – he still did not know what would happen if they crashed.
He imagined a jolt, then a falling motion like that which you get in an elevator. Then the awakening fear inside you, pumping adrenaline through your veins as the plane splashed into the ocean. He did not understand how anyone could survive the impact, let alone open the doors and stay afloat as they waited for rescue.
As the plane started rolling down the runway, he grasped his armrest, knuckles white and breathing fast. What if they didn’t take off? What if they kept on ploughing through the airport and crashed through the fence, speeding through town? Would the plane be able to stop before they crashed and died?
There was a frightening lurch and he was pressed into the back of his seat. The plane picked up speed and shot down the runway. Sound warped around the bullet shape, and all they could hear inside was the buzzing from the engines.
A smile started to appear on Arthur’s face as they lifted up, leaving the airport – and his worries – behind him. He was breathing fast, however, and was still pressed hard against his seat. The town sped below them, the cars getting smaller and the buildings seemed shorter. Soon, there was a patchwork quilt of the New Zealand countryside laid below him. It was almost as if the fluffy land of grass and trees was going to catch the plane if it fell.
There wasn’t much to do for the duration of the flight. All of the magazines were about adult things like perfumes and cars and celebrities. There wasn’t soccer in any of them; Arthur had checked. Mrs Keel was reading a book she had brought along with her, and Mr Keel was listening to the armrest. That didn’t leave much for Arthur to do for the next half hour, so he spent most of it staring out the window, wondering what it would be like to fly alongside the plane.
Probably wet, he had concluded after a long time of deliberation. He couldn’t think it would be fun to be splattered constantly by water and wind. He had been on his father’s motorbike a few times, and that wasn’t the most pleasing experience.
Soon the plane was lowering and Arthur’s fear heightening. His brother’s words rang in his head, his last words before they departed, leaving him home for the weekend. “One in every ten planes crash when they’re trying to land.”
A woman in a uniform came up the aisle, passing a basket to each passenger. There was a small uprising in his spirits as he saw her near. Last time, he had asked his mother, and she said that the lollies made landing easier. He didn’t know how this worked, but he believed her. After all, they hadn’t crashed last time.
He took a handful of lollies and plopped one in his mouth, sucking the sweetness out of it. The rest he stowed in the front pocket of his carry-on bag, where yesterdays haul was still presiding. The thought of brandishing his lollies at Max when he got home took his mind off the crash.
But then there was a jolt. They were lower now, the clouds now hung as a grey ceiling above them, blocking all sunlight. The ground looked colourless, too. It was filled with streets and buildings. Even the cars and parks scattered across the city, berries hidden throughout the city’s branches and leaves, were not enough to brighten the scene.
Mrs Keel had dog-eared the book, stowing it away in her bag, but Mr Keel was still plugged into the armrest. We’re nearly there, Arthur told himself, and that’s why they’re looking up. But that wasn’t what his gut was telling him. There was something wrong, or else there wouldn’t have been a jolt.
He was looking through the window, ignoring the body of his father that lay in the way. He was searching the landscape for their destination. Maybe if he could see it, it would come faster. Finally, he spotted the airport, two long roads surrounded by patches of grass. But that wasn’t where they were headed. They were losing height, but headed right for the ocean, visible as a vast blue line stretching out, out, into the horizon. They were going to miss the airport; they were flying too high and they were too far over.
He tugged on his mother’s sleeve, breathing rapidly again and sucking in the humid air like it was a new flavoured chocolate bar. “Mum…” he said, his voice hanging around for a moment before he continued, “mum, we’re going to crash!”
She turned and looked at him with her deep, adorning eyes. He stared into them, and he knew what she would say. Sure enough, the words were out of his mouth so uniformly it was like she was reading from a script. “It’s alright, Arthur; just a bit of wind.”
But she didn’t understand. That wasn’t even close to what he was on about. He wasn’t worried about the turbulence anymore; he was terrified that the pilot was going to fly them into the water. No one seemed to get it; he looked around, and saw that everyone was happily sitting in their seats.
He looked out the window again, relocating in the airport just in time to see it slide out of view. It was final now; blood was pumping in his ears, and they were starting to hurt. Why was no one worried that they were about to crash? They were losing altitude fast, and Arthur could see the ocean without leaning over his father now. It was only a matter of time. “Mum,” he tried again, only for his words to stop in his throat. The plane had started listing to the left, tilting sharply.
This was it.
Ten years old, and he was going to die.
‘It’s okay; we’re just turning so we can land easier,” his mother’s voice came from beside him, but he wasn’t paying attention. They weren’t going to land. The airport was behind them. The plane was crashing and she was trying to calm him down. But his knuckles were white; clutching the arm rest so tightly his had was getting a cramp.
“We’re going to die,” he whispered, still wondering why no one seemed to notice. Breathe in, breathe out, he told himself. In, out. In, out. He bit down on his lolly so hard that it snapped in two, and he began to crunch the brittle edges to keep his mind off the swaying of the plane.
The banked out of the turn and another hurried glance showed that the city was now to the left of him, showing out his father’s window. The ocean showed out the right side. He couldn’t see the airport anymore.
This is it. Ten years old. Going to die. This is it. Ten years old. Going to die.
The words pulsed through his head in time with the blood through his ears, which were screaming at him. He brought one hand up to his nose and blew hard, as his father had shown him to do the previous day. The pain weakened as something in his ear moved, but was still there. The blood still hammered away.
They were diving down. The ground rushed up to greet them like a bubble to the surface. A hundred meters… fifty… twenty… Something came into view as they plummeted, and out the window he saw a fence pass beneath. Ten meters… runway was visible now, the white lines flashing like neon lights.
But they were at the airport, they were landing, they were not going to die. They would survive…
Five meters, then, sooner than it ought to, there was a bashful bump as the wheels touched the ground. Everything started to slow down. The fence line beside them became individual wires, instead of a transparent gray mass. The lines beat dawdle, to flash by at a less intense rate. Then they stopped.
They stopped.
The plane gave one last lurch forwards as it came to complete stand-still. Arthur was pushed forwards in his seat, the belt cutting into him – he had pulled it on as tight as it could go – and pulling him back.
They were safe, they were on the ground, and they were alive.
Arthur let out a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to savour the feeling. Of course he had been stupid. Max had probably made up the statistic about one in ten planes crashing. He had been silly to believe him, even for one fleeting second. He should have stopped to think.
The plane started to roll forwards, being taxied to the terminal. A voice came over the intercom, sounding at ease: “Ladies and gentlemen, if you will please stay in your seats until—”
Everything went black. The plane fell silent and no one stirred. Arthur tried to call out his surprise, but he found that his mouth wouldn’t obey. His head fell to the side as the plane was taxied around a bend, but he couldn’t hold it up. He would have been breathing rapidly if he was at all, but his lungs didn’t want to work.
The last thing he felt was the heavy air if the plane pressing down on him, pushing him into the depths of oblivion.
***
On the waterfront, a short distance away from the airport, a man had parked his car on the side of the road. It wasn’t the weather for the beach, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to leave his car, or indeed, look out the window. He was currently watching his hand as it moved towards to door.
He deposited the small black object, like a radio, in the side of the door, pushing the antenna back in at the same time. His watch glinted in the pale light of the street lamps, which had just turned on. His rear-view mirror was positioned exactly to that he could see the runway, and precisely a minute ago there had been a plane charging seemingly at him, right through the mirror.
The radio-like object rattled in the side of the door as he turned the key, lurched backwards as he pulled out of his parking spot. The mirror showed the plane being taxied around the bend in the runway, and he smiled to himself. He brought his hand up, adjusting the mirror to the correct position, as he drove away from the airport.
Ten minutes later he stopped by a Warf around the Wellington bays. Walking to the edge before stopping, he remarked on how pointless the effort was. He had no links, he had no motive. They wouldn’t do a vehicle search on everyone within a kilometre of the accident. Completely pointless.
But yet, he threw the radio like device as hard as he could into the ocean, watching it splash with a far away ‘plonk’.
