A/N: Written for the Diversity Challenge, A100 – write from the POV of an inanimate character. Not sure why I picked the plane, but…I can't help but feel a little sorry for it.


Slow Dissolution

It fell into the water and there it was abandoned. Save for the water that flooded it. And the dead body still strapped in his seat. And the other bits that floated about, things he could do nothing with.

And cold. That chilled the metal of his frame and filled the interior until that cold weighed him down like stones. And it was already weighty. Unable to fly without direction: without hands to carefully guide its controls, without fuel, without the right air currents and weather conditions.

And now it was trapped in a little lake, slowly decaying, and alone.

It was used to the whisper of passengers: their chatter, a mixed orchestra that was no less entertaining. It was used to thorough and tender cleanings. Of sweet smelling potpourri after a long trip. It was used to lavishing and attention and bright lights and the wilderness only as a passing scene below the clouds.

But now it was drowning. Slowly decaying. Being eaten by fishes that had been so foreign a thing before, in times of flight.

And it was alone.