Disclaimer: They belong to Wes Craven, and the general elements of a "trapped on an island" story belong to a ton of different people, and this wouldn't exist without them.

I know it's slightly OOC, but it's a comedy piece, so I feel a little exaggeration is okay

Here is why you never watch Red Eye while reading Lord of the Flies…

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Among people afraid of flying, there is an illogical belief that if one just focuses on keeping the plane in the air, it will stay that way and nothing bad will happen. People like this rarely let themselves sleep on a plane, or watch a movie or read, because they need to just make sure that plane stays up. Lisa Reisert usually dismissed this train of thought, feeling that it was better to distract herself and read, but was now questioning whether those paranoid people had a point.

She had already been reeling from the shock of her handsome new acquaintance revealing his intentions towards her father, and then the jolt of the plane had completely set off a panic reaction in her brain. There was no way that was just turbulence. Within seconds the plane was losing altitude, and a horrible realization sunk in. I'm going to die in a plane crash on a routine flight. And I'm going to be stuck next to this creep for all eternity. Despite her current feelings about Jackson Rippner, she gripped his hand tightly, needing something to channel her terror into. He flinched, but squeezed back, making her wonder if he was as terrified as she was. There was a deafening roar, and then her whole world went black.

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Joe Reisert watched in horror as the newscaster solemnly reported how flight 1019 had crashed in the Gulf of Mexico between Dallas and Miami. There were no known survivors, but the wreckage had not been found, so there was some hope for the people on the plane. He immediately called his ex-wife, hoping against hope that Lisa had decided at the last minute to stay in Dallas, but she assured him that Lisa had boarded that plane. Joe sank into his armchair and tried to process his grief.

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Dick Farwell hung up his phone, then stared at it in disbelief. Jackson Rippner, assassination manager extraordinaire, was missing and believed dead after a plane crash? He'd always assumed his boss would either go down in a hail of bullets or kill himself as the police closed in, but a plane crash was a bit pedestrian. And, even more disappointing, the hit would have to be rescheduled, and the old guy in the house would be of no use, so he'd tailed him for weeks for nothing. Hell, he'd even joined a golf club to get close to the guy. Hours and hours spent in tangerine colored pants whacking the ground with a pole, and now it was all for nothing? He cursed that damn plane, then wondered if maybe he could go get some breakfast now. Pancakes would be good.

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After what felt like hours (but was actually about ten minutes) of swimming, Jackson pulled himself onto the beach, hauling Lisa's unconscious body up next to him. He had no idea what this piece of land was, but it was the closest bit of solid ground, so most of the survivors had made their way to it. Except one guy, who'd swam off yelling something about swimming back to Texas, but Jackson doubted he would make it. In fact, he doubted that guy could do pretty much anything, but he might have just been going crazy with the stress. Ah, well. He probably wouldn't have been much use to us anyway- we only want useful people here. Young, strong, intelligent…how the hell did the fat old lady get here? I would have pegged her as the least likely to be able to swim this far. Well, I hope she can build a fire, or she's getting voted off this island. His job had conditioned him for dealing with unexpected catastrophes, so Jackson felt that he was quite up to the task of keeping his cool and organizing these people in some productive way. He just needed to get them to listen to him somehow. An idea struck him, and he ran down to the main section of the beach.

There was a sturdy-looking rock that he figured could hold his weight, and Jackson clambered up onto it before whistling as loud as he could. A majority of the people gathered there turned to look at him, and a second whistle got everyone's attention. Everyone looked up at him expectantly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, at this point I'd like to urge you all not to panic." He knew this was technically the flight attendants' job, but as one was running in circles panicking and one was trying to crack a coconut to get flavoring for her coffee, he felt he should take over. "I know this seems bad, but we if we can organize ourselves and find some source of food, we can all survive and be rescued. Does anyone here have any skills that might be at all useful?" Nobody spoke up, and he stared in disbelief. All these people and not a single one was helpful? He pointed to a man he recognized as the angry guy from the ticket line. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a doctor." His smug tone was annoying, but at the moment Jackson was just staring in shock.

"And you didn't think that might be helpful, seeing as we have injured people here? Or were you not listening?" This is really not a good group to be stuck with. Even our token doctor is dumb as a rock.

"Actually, I was a little busy wondering who died and made you king of the island. Who else thinks we should make this guy shut up, and just find some way to get out of here?" He stormed over to the senior flight attendant, who had abandoned her coconut. "You're supposed to be in charge, you're the employee here." She glared at him, and her coworker cut her off from responding by reminding her that there was a child present. Jackson looked over, and added a babysitting committee to his mental checklist of things to set up. He would be a good dictator, he decided, and was not about to let a bossy man who thought flight attendants were also community organizers stand in his way. He started to assign people tasks, and was quite proud of himself for keeping law and order. He was taking a census when Lisa finally woke up. He was on his way to check on her when the old woman started asking him question after question, and by the time she was done, Lisa had walked up right next to him.

"What do you think you're doing? You have no right to order these people around. You obviously don't even know what we should be taking care of."

"What do you mean?" He was a little put off that she had switched so readily from being his victim to yelling at him, and was annoyed that she was not impressed by his alpha-male status on the island.

"We should be seeing what we can get from the plane, like food and communication equipment, not building semi-permanent lodgings! Do you even want to get back?" He didn't answer her, and simply stalked away, debating how to organize a group to scavenge from the plane without saying that it had been Lisa's idea. She definitely just earned herself an assigned job of being the girl who sits near my lounge and feeds me grapes or airline peanuts, or whatever we find.