Royce
The smoke had cleared and the fire was now extinguished, but the evidence of what had happened that morning would linger for years. "Peter!" Royce's voice rang through the air, his worry and grief prominent. His son Peter had been on the all night flight home that had crashed. Royce had been searching for his son for an hour and couldn't find him. None of the surrounding hospitals had checked him in from the crash and he had never made it home. Would he have just walked off? If he did, he would be home by now. Where could he be? One question stuck in his mind, the one that he didn't want to ask. Was he alive?
Peter
The bird was soaring, majestic and calm. Everything was fine and the sun was shining, in the distance birds chirped merrily. Suddenly, the bird burst into flames, falling out of the sky. There were screams. The sky turned into a torrent of colors. All that Peter knew was that he had to get away, but how and why.
"Would you like some water sir?" The voice of the flight attendant tore him from his day dream.
"No, but I'll take a scotch." he had always been a nervous flyer, and his day dream had proven that fact. As he sat there waiting for his drink he envisioned what was in store for him at home. His mother was dying, his father heart-broken, and his sister depressed. He was glad he got out of that black hole of a town. Once you got sucked in you would waste away until you died.
After his drink, his nerves were settled and he found that he was quickly finding possible to sleep. He wouldn't get in until nine thirty, so that gave him an hour to sleep. And he would need his rest for the upcoming weekend. He buzzed the flight attendant to ask her for a pillow when the plane started shaking. He was sure the pilot would come on saying it was mild turbulence or that the flight attendant would be to his seat momentarily. Ten minutes had passed and neither the flight attendant nor the pilot had been seen or heard. Peter was getting nervous. He got up and decided to go check on the flight attendants supposing that they were only tied up with breakfast for the hungry passengers. When he got to the back of the plane, he saw all of the flight attendants, dead. Blood was soaked through their clothes and seeping into the carpet. The smell was what had driven him from the scene. He quickly ran back to his seat stifling a scream, not wanting to frighten the other passengers.
Ten more minutes had passed and there was more turbulence, though I don't think you can call this minor. The plane was shaking and only Peter knew why. From his window seat he pulled up the blinds only to see an unusual amount of brightness, even for early morning. He was looking at the engine, it had caught on fire. Seeing this, Peter could not stifle his scream and soon the whole plane knew that they were going to crash, and maybe, die.