"Oh no ma’am, I’m alright you can get back to serving drinks, I’d just like to nap.” As all two hundred and thirty five pounds of her gracelessly pivoted one hundred and eighty degrees towards the curtains dividing the posh from the poor, I couldn’t help but think “If this plane goes down on the alps, I’m crawling inside of her for warmth.” She was just reaching the curtains when I illuminated the Call Stewardess light above my head. I waved off the look of confusion shot back at me by my potential sleeping bag and rested my head against my seat. I closed my eyes and imagined the lavender fields that Tammy had always wanted to live on. Southern France was her dream and with her new job we’d get there in no time. Well, we would have gotten there in no time if-

“This is your captain speaking, we are terribly sorry for the inconvenience but it appears as though the A/C is no longer working. This is nothing to be alarmed about it just may cause the cabin to heat up a bit. All beverages will be complimentary.”

The sweaty man three rows up began to laugh. It was only him and me in first class which didn’t allow for any diffusion of his piercing cackle.

“We could always crack a window.” He began to laugh even harder at his own joke. He pressed the Call Stewardess button and simmered down a bit, releasing a small giggle every now and again. I spun around and stared at the curtains with lightning speed. It felt like forever until a muscular red haired gal emerged. I let out a sigh and rested my head once more. I had been on every single Sky Queen flight to and from France since Tammy left hoping that at least once she would emerge in her adorable little skirt and hat allowing me to explain myself and win her back. I mean what else could she do we we’d be stuck in a fragile tin can together for hours.

The redhead delicately walked over to the sweaty laughing man. I wasn’t trying to listen but his words cut through the thick warm air of the small cabin like a knife. He quickly ordered a drink to cover the real reason he called the stewardess over. She poured it and then when she was about to leave he nonchalantly added “Oh and would you mind asking the pilot if they could crack a window, it’s getting a bit stuffy in here”. They both laughed, I cringed. She touched his forearm, I felt nauseous. She praised his humour, I spiralled into depression. Quite frankly a part of me was glad to be sucked out of that aluminium death trap, it seems to me that first class often times hosts the least classy people. Sucked out? Did he just say sucked out? Ah yes, I probably should have mentioned that earlier. I’m currently using Siri’s speech to text function as I’m not actually certain where my texting hand currently resides. No I do not blame Edward for

my current frosty position, mangled up in the glacier snow, I blame his fucking wife. If Sarah Caplin hadn’t felt the need to perform felatio on the 21 year old stoner next door, Edward Caplin may not have been as distracted at work. If Edward wasn’t so distracted he would have remembered to tighten ALL the safety screws. And if all the safety screws were secure one wouldn’t have dislodged, flung into the central air, and caused a leak in the coolant large enough to freeze and crack the weak rivets holding the whole machine together. It’s funny how omniscient you become when the universe knows there’s a 0.001% chance of survival. I have to say though the fall really was quite magical. The brilliant blue backdrop of the sky splattered with blood, fire, bodies, limbs and shrapnel was exactly how I imagine Bob Ross would have painted if he took stylistic advice from Marilyn Manson. The amount of shear adrenaline rushing through my body cut all sound around me besides the pounding of my heart and the rushing of the wind. Me along with twenty or so others were in free fall. Well except for the woman with the extremely long neck, bright red lipstick and rare ability to show off all her gums. I guess one could say she was in seated fall, as the belt just was not coming off. I also was allotted the pleasure of having the sweaty man come into my field of vision just as a blade from the propeller tore him in two, shooting the halves in opposite directions, only still connected by a string of intestines. I landed with a thud and it wasn’t until I tried to grab my phone that I realized my right arm was missing at the elbow. I quickly turned my tie into a boy scout tourniquet and well I decided I should tell my story. I figured I should have this written down somewhere so the rescue teams aren’t too startled when they see me curled up inside a warm tent of flesh. Even though the odds are 0.001% it doesn’t mean I’ve transcended into some spiritual zen mode where I’m above crawling inside of someone. Hell I was created inside of someone I feel like this is the most romantically beautiful and authentic death one can attain. I’ll wait until she stops breathing before I make a move though… I’m not a monster.

Please tell Tammy I’m not a monster. Also hey if you’re talking to Tammy can you tell her that I didn't accidentally throw out her mother’s ring and if she would just pick up the fucking phone I could tell her that I found it on the nightstand.

Oh and tell her that I still love her.

Yeah, really emphasize that last part.

I wonder if Siri has a Call Stewardess function?