I am forced from my sleep by the obnoxious sound throughout the cabin as the overhead seat-belt light comes on. As I work to adjust myself in this small coach-class seat and to pull the safety belt over my waist, I hear the captains voice, “We are about to experience some minor turbulence. Please do not panic as we will be through it shortly.”

Never before do I remember the captain of a plane asking his passengers not to panic. Perhaps we would soon be experiencing something greater than simply “minor turbulence”. Glancing to the left now, I open the shade that keeps light from coming in through the window so that I might see the coming storm.

I will never forget the sight that is before me at this moment. We are in what seemed like the very center of a vast rotating spiral. None like I have ever seen before, and living in tornado alley, I have seen plenty. There is absolutely no wind current, and the surrounding clouds are stained with a faint yellow tint. Never have I seen anything like this. I assume that it might compare to the sight of the Northern Lights, and I have only dreamed of seeing that beauty. I was amazed, to say the least. What spectacular things derive from the balance of nature!

Unexpected, and rapid, wind movement catches the attention of everyone on board just before the vessel in which we are passengers is thrown into a downward spiral. I blink once, not believing that this is actually happening. I blink twice, wanting to wake up from an uncontrollable nightmare. I blink a third time just before the plane I am in crashes against the upward thrust of the Atlantic Ocean’s current.

I find it very difficult to catch my breath while I watch all of the windows shattering before me. While I feel the sharp edges of glass plastering my face, I try to unbuckle the belt that has kept me safe thus far. I quickly discover that the belt will not cooperate. I loosen it and squirm as to remove myself from the seat. I quickly push myself through the window of the plane, which is now sinking. This is harder than it may seem, considering the force of the water racing into what was once the cabin of a working seven forty seven. I push myself to the surface of the water simply to see an island that I cannot swim to. The distance is too great. I also see one of the floatation devices one might find in the seat of a modern commercial airline.

To the best of my ability, I swim to meet the floatation device. To my surprise, it is not vacant. One of the other passengers managed to escape from the plane before it hit the surface of the water. Receiving no acknowledgement from him, I climb onto the floatation device. As I wonder why this man is slouching over, I realize that one side of his head had been completely devastated. I began to cry as I realized the horrific event that had just happened. I search for some type of identification so that I might, in the future, work to notify this stranger’s family. In his wallet, I find his boarding pass, forty-two dollars, and an American driver’s license that beheld the name Paul Eleazar Andrews. Upon further investigation, I discover a small, wallet-sized booklet. On the front are written the words, “Jesus Loves You,” along with a smiley-face that looks like the once familiar mascot of the greatest supermarket in America. I glance through the book, which seems to highlight something called “Salvation”. I place this small track in my pocket. I feel as though it may be of some use later.

The current begins to take Paul and I toward the island with some surviving debris from the plane that we were once passengers on. On the way to the island, I see several books including Six Feet Deep and Rebellion, by an author called Andrew Paul. I remove Paul’s seat belt and allow him to slip into the water of the ocean, and I close my eyes as to attempt sleep, the very thing I was woken from just before the plane was swallowed up by wind and water. I hope that this is not truly happening.

I open my eyes just before my floatation device washes up onto the beach that I had seen earlier. This reminds me of a Tom Hanks movie. All I need is a friend named Wilson. I walk further onto the beach, while watching the great yellow storm retract into the water below not far from the coast. This is real. Though I hoped with all my heart that it was a dream, I must push forward. Obviously, my business plans in England will have to be postponed. I need to find a way off of this island.

My name is John Nathaniel Parker and this is my story.

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