A/N: Hi, I'm not dead. I know, surprise right? So, why have I not updated in, like, forever? Well, to put a long story short: I got reacquainted with my dear friend Ana (anorexia, for those of you not in the know) and have been sort of out it (my mind,heh) for the last year or so. I'm better now though, and my therapist says I should spend more time doing things I enjoy. I've actually been longing to write for a while, but my ability to concentrate has been seriously reduced by me not eating. Six months ago I had trouble even reading a book, and was barely conscious of what I was doing, I've made big, huge progress since. I'm quite proud of myself, sometimes at least.
But enough yammering about my mental illness - it's not that fun a topic - and let's get on with it. I came up with this idea recently (yesterday) and thought I'd give it a go. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna finish this one, not when though, but I'm taking a break from school so I'm probably going to be able to write and update quite often. I have a beginning, a plot line and an idea of how I want it to end, so bear with me please.
And to close, I would like to give you all two pieces of advice.
Firstly; Let it be alright to feel happy, even if you aren't the fairest of them all. You owe it to both your body and mind to treat, respect and to love yourself. Or at least to try.
Secondly; do as I say, not as I do.
Disclaimer: I own only flygirl and directorward. Everything else belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
Prologue - Plummeting
If I had to choose a word to describe myself it would be fly.
No, not as in an oh my-god-I'm-so-fly way. No, flying is what I do, what I love and how I deal with things. I fly.
Right now, for an instance, I'm flying an airplane. Or rather, I was flying. Now we - me and my crew - are falling out of the sky. Fast. In other words; we are going to crash. Which is not good. At all.
The ground is getting closer and everything on it is getting bigger. Houses that looked like tiny huts a minute ago, are now looking like quite spacious two-bedroom houses, and they're growing by the second.
Everything was fine before takeoff, I know it was. I checked everything, I always, always do. So, how is it then that my plane, me and my crew are very soon going to receive a very hard welcome hug from the ground? I don't know. I can't explain how I could go from being in total control, to having only one - barely - functioning engine left. All I know is that in about a minute or so, we are going to crash.
It won't be one of those crashes you read about in the news, you know the tragic ones were everyone dies. No, we're not gonna die. I still have ten percent engine capacity left, which is enough for me to be able to land. It won't be a pretty or graceful landing, we'll go down in a crash, but a crash everyone on board hopefully survives, as apposed to one were everyone dies. Minor injuries - such as broken and/or missing limbs - might occur though. I'm not Houdini, you know?
The houses are looking big now, really big, I can even make out the colors of the curtains in the windows. We're going to crash very, very soon. I'm trying to keep calm - which is no easy feat - and keep the course best I can. I'm aiming for the woods that stretches behind the pretty suburb houses, hopefully we'll make it, although I can't make any promises.
We're very close to the roofs of the houses now, I'm starting to sweat. Approximately ten seconds left.
We hurdle past the last house on the street and I spot trees not far ahead. I feel a brief sense of relief at not crashing into a house. Then I become very tense again.
Then we crash.