Alone

Words 296

It was dark when Skyla opened her eyes. Lifting her chin, she sniffed the air, recognising an amalgam of odours, one metallic, another, gasoline.
Silence and darkness enveloped her. She couldn’t recall her whereabouts. Then a sudden recollection, although chaotic. Jumbled memories of fear, noise, mayhem. It was all too much to absorb and her eyes closed involuntarily, as Skyla groggily declared she’d think about it tomorrow.

The bright light of day shining into her eyes brought her instantly into a state of awareness of her surroundings, and what she saw made her think perhaps she might be in hell. Bodies, still strapped in their seats, heads hung from broken necks and the coppery smell she’d been aware of revealed itself as blood. Pools of it, Red streaks and splatters up the aircraft walls. The overwhelming stench of aviator fuel permeated the horrific scene. Fellow passengers, ones who’d decided to ignore the fasten seat belt request, had been thrown like rag dolls throughout the fuselage.

‘Hello? ‘ No reply. ‘Is there anyone alive?’ she croaked, her voice dry from the hours of unconsciousness after the plane crashed into the thickly forested mountain.
The realisation she may be the only survivor horrified the young woman. She was only nineteen, her parents would have been informed flight Q986 was missing and would be devastated to think her dead. It was that thought which gave her the impetus to undo her seatbelt and force herself to squeeze past her dead neighbour, an elderly lady who had been so nice to Skyla, when she’d admitted her fear of flying. Making her unsteady way to the cockpit, she found both pilots dead. An intermittent radio request for their position crackled unanswered.
‘This place isn’t even on the map.’ Her voice, shaking with emotion replied.