Boarding: London. From: Dublin.

Just over a thousand words.

‘Boarding: London, Luton.’

  I finish my text before boarding: ‘Thanks again for covering me J See u tomorrow xx Jennifer’

  I shoulder through the scrambling crowd on the plane, clutching my handbag for the trip.

  When everyone is seated I rest my head as the pilot announces our departure. Upon our take off I peer over the city which dwindles in size as we soar, and close my eyes in relaxation, even if it is just Dublin to Luton.

 

  I wake up jarringly, as if I was shaken. We’re still in flight, but the plane is viciously jittering. Everyone looks paranoid and we’re all looking around ourselves, waiting for an explanation. I get a sensation of drifting downwards and the sound of the plane quickly becomes abnormally loud. Fear ricochets inside me as everyone turns hysterical. The violent quivering of the plane results in several people throwing up and several more releasing harrowing cries, land sliding fear onto them all.

  A sick feeling rises in the back of my throat, but I’m too weak to gag. My heart hammers inside my chest and my lungs seize up in paralysis as my head falls back on my chair. As my eyes roll back I feel the man beside me shaking me and telling me to put on my life-jacket. The monstrous noise gets louder as we descend and I want to scream but my body has completely shut down in prodigious horror.

  I hear the air hostess saying that we’ll be fine and the coastguard will be here shortly. Just as she tells us to take deep breaths, an astronomical BANG darts through the plane. My eyes are shut but an incandescence of flames beams through my lids. Suddenly I feel fire actually burning my legs which triggers me to wake up and screech manically. The half of the plane I’m on is drowned in flames, whereas the other half is sunk below sea. I sprint down to the flooded side, but billows of smoke block my view and I trip, banging my head against the ground. I become unconscious, drifting into the ebbing water.

 

My eyelids slowly open to a bright light. I look around to find myself in a stark hospital bedroom with fluorescent lighting. I grunt as I try to remember what has happened, which triggers someone next to me to let out a gasp.

  ‘Jennifer?’ she asks, repeatedly pressing a button next to my bed. ‘It’s okay �" you’re okay Jen,’ she says, her voice quivering with relief. It’s my workmate, Nina.

  My attention automatically turns to the TV, because I hear another familiar voice. It’s my mom. She’s at a press conference and, because the volume low, the only words I can discern from her are ‘cold-blooded killer’. This sends a fast pulse around my body. I look to Nina with a perplexed expression. Nina breathes deeply, tucking her black hair behind her ear.

  ‘You were in a plane crash, Jen.’ she solemnly tells me. ‘It wasn’t an accident.’

  I reach for the TV remote with prickly pains shooting up my arm. On the TV it shows a photo of a dark-haired man while a reporter informs:

  ‘The whereabouts of James Durcan, a 28 year old pharmacist from Wicklow, were unknown from the plane crash 2 days ago. However, his body was found today by coastguard pilots. It was said that he drowned in the water while trying to swim away from the burning plane.’

  It’s now showing footage of a plane in the ocean.

  ‘The devastating crash that killed 5 and injured several more was a product of Henry Green, a 32 year old pilot. It is stated that Green had a history of depression and recently talked to his therapist about suicidal thoughts, but, of course, there are never any reasons for denying the right to live. Ryan Sterling, BBC1 news.’

  I hear a door suddenly shut. I look up to see a tall man in a white coat holding a clipboard.

  ‘Jennifer,’ he says in an English accent. ‘How’re you feeling?’

  I don’t answer. I see him looking at the clipboard from the corner of my eye.

  ‘I’ll leave you in just a moment, I know this is obviously a devastating time, but I just wanted to inform you of your injuries.’

  My heart stampedes.

  ‘Unfortunately, you have third degree burns on your legs but the good news is that they didn’t get infected. You have a small amount of second degree burns on the lower part of your body too, but the brilliant news is that your baby is okay.’

  My heart leaps into my throat and dread seizes me �" Nina’s still here. I evasively turn my attention to her. Her face is pale and gaping, as if it wasn’t manufactured for what she just heard.

‘You’re pregnant?’ she asks, her eyes transfixed on mine. The doctor intuitively leaves.

  I don’t answer. I look down in the hope that she’ll leave too.

  ‘Jen, I know this isn’t the right time �" I don’t know if it ever will be, but you said you needed me to cover you for a day because you had to go to a relative’s funeral �" and you came here.’ She gestures at the city outside the window.

  I pretend she’s not there, like some defence mechanism an animal would have.

  ‘Something’s wrong.’ She claims. ‘If you need someone to talk-’

  ‘Go- please.’

  She sits silently for another minute before doing as I say.

  I lie down again before a dead, sombre feeling devours me. I stare up at the ceiling, listening to the TV:

  ‘In other news, debates are continuing in Ireland over whether or not an abortion law should be put in place, due to the increasing number of women travelling to Britain to have foetal reductions.’

  I hear English citizens being interviewed by a reporter.

  ‘It’s her body,’ a man says. ‘She can do what she wants with it.’

  ‘... his body was found this afternoon...’

  ‘What about a woman’s rights?’ a woman asks.

  ‘... denying the right to live...’

  ‘Sometimes a foetal reduction is necessary.’

  ‘... he drowned in the water...’

  ...

   ‘James Durcan, a 28 year old pharmacist from Wicklow...’

  ‘... your baby is okay.’