A few days ago, I saw a movie that moved me in a strange way. It inspired me to write this story. I would not advise you to read this if you are not a believer of the LORD. Even though you can't see him, God is there, and he's watching over us. This story is very religious, with much praying.
I don't know if there were any children on the plane, but I've decided to make it from the point of view of a child. She was not real. I wanted to show some people what the passengers on Fight 93 were feeling in the last few minutes of their lives.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that happened on that day.
I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell. On the third day He rose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty, from there He shall come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Christian Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.
Amen.
I have had this speech memorized for years. My brother was confirmed at our church when I was five, and he had to read it before reading a speech he'd written describing his faith. I recite it every night before I let sleep overtake me, and every morning before I begin my day. I pray all the time. Nothing is more important to me than my faith and servitude to the Lord my Father.
Especially now.
I wasn't the only one praying. I was on an airplane called Flight 93. I was miles up from the ground with many other passengers sitting around me. We were supposed to land safely. But I am unable to guarantee that. Our lives are in the hands of people that cannot be trusted. We could die any second.
I know that. Everyone knew that. I'm not sure if I was the only child on the plane, but I felt like it. I was the only one not crying. The man next to me was talking on the phone to who I assumed was his wife. He was trying to reassure her. I could hear her sobbing on the other end of the line. He was a fool to tell her what was going on. That he may die any minute.
He hangs up and hands the phone to me. I shake my head and look away. I had no one to reassure. I had no one to go to. My brother had died last year in a drunk driving accident. He wasn't the one drinking. My brother was an honorable boy- top of his class, popular, and an athletic prodigy. I was expected to live up to his accomplishments and take after him. I remember one day when I was crying because some kids that knew him hadn't realized that I was his sister, and thought it was some girl who was a lot taller and better in school than I ever was. They had started teasing me and asking if I'd been adopted. He'd comforted me, saying that I was what I am now, and if I was comfortable with that, too bad for them. They'd have to live with it.
My mother died about three months later. The police don't know how she died, but I'm still sticking by myself. My dad shot her. He shot her to death in a drunken rage. I witnessed it myself, but the police wouldn't believe me. I was put into my dad's custody, but I ran away, taking his money with me. I bought myself a plane ticket on Flight 93, hoping to just run away from the world and live the rest of my life out.
A man, one of the evil men who'd taken the plane from the pilot was out of the cockpit. My eyes traveled to the bomb strapped to his chest. My blood went cold when my eyes landed on it. The man sees me looking at it and shouts something at me. I couldn't understand what he was saying. He was speaking Arabic, or something. I look away from him and look out the window. He waves the knife in my face and continues to scream at me. I ignore him the best I can.
I cover my ears, refusing to listen to the other people cry. I was inside my world until screaming caused me to uncover my ears and look around at what's happening. When I saw, my eyes widened in shock and I shrunk back in my seat. Knowing I wouldn't be alive much longer, I began to pray:
Dear Lord-
The men were attacking one of the hijackers. The awful snapping noise told me they'd broken his arm. One man lifted up the bomb. He was screaming that it was a fake.
-I know that I am going to die any second. I have devoted my life to you, yet I deserve none of your righteousness and the love you show me-
Having taken care of the man who was cradling his broken arm, the rebels had taken a service trolley. They were ramming the door, destroying the pathway to the cockpit. I clasped my hands together tighter.
-Lord, I ask for a place in your kingdom so I can continue to serve you and praise you-
Suddenly, the plane was leaning to the side, my face was pressed against the cool glass of the window. Out of the corner of my eye, my watch read 10: 03.
The plane leaned forward. I pushed my hands against the seat in front of me to keep me in a sitting position.
-Please have mercy on these people-
The prayer was never finished.
We all know about the 9/11 attacks on September 11th, 2001. But not the whole story. One of the four planes did not hit the intended target. That plane was Flight 93. It was hijacked and the passengers were held hostage until their deaths. In the movie United 93, it was depicted that the passengers attempted to fight back for their lives. I do not know if this is true or not. When the passengers had taken care of 2 of the 4 hijackers, they went to the cockpit and attempted to take control of the plane. They failed. The last scene of United 93 showed a point of view from the cockpit window. The last thing the "rebels" saw was the ground hurtling toward them.
Flight 93 crashed into a reclaimed coal strip mine in Stonycreek Township, Somerset County, Pennsylvania, near Shanksville. No one survived.
I'm dedicating this story in their names. None of the passengers deserved to die. Never Forget.
God Bless,
V.
