(Rebecca)
I've never liked birds. Not really. A ball of feather and bone. Flapping pointlessly around. Not much good unless roasted. Call me a glutton, but I happen to be of a very acceptable weight.
I don't like them one bit- especially now since a flock has suddenly crashed through the windshield. Everyone- Rose especially- is screaming, even though it should be the poor birds doing that.
I still don't care for them though. Not to mention that they somehow managed to knock the pilot unconscious.
How do I stay so calm during a dilemma like this amazes even me.
I tear off my seatbelt and rush through the already open cockpit. The pilot is squished on the floor in a mass of blood and feathers. I don't like the sight of him. He looks too much like a bird.
He's not breathing anymore.
Everyone is screaming. Screaming. The plane suddenly veers right and amazingly, there is a moment of silence.
Screams. I'm going to die.
Still in the cockpit, I can see Miss Millet wobble and suddenly crash, displaying her knickers in a most unladylike fashion. Ha. A quick glance out the window tells me that we're still flying over mountains. I imagine myself squished, like the pilot, with ice cubes for blood. Would we ever be found? Would I die straight away, or slowly and painfully? Would it even hurt?
And then suddenly the plane flips over and we're plunging down.
I've never liked birds. Not really. A ball of feather and bone. Flapping pointlessly around. Not much good unless roasted. Call me a glutton, but I happen to be of a very acceptable weight.
I don't like them one bit- especially now since a flock has suddenly crashed through the windshield. Everyone- Rose especially- is screaming, even though it should be the poor birds doing that.
I still don't care for them though. Not to mention that they somehow managed to knock the pilot unconscious.
How do I stay so calm during a dilemma like this amazes even me.
I tear off my seatbelt and rush through the already open cockpit. The pilot is squished on the floor in a mass of blood and feathers. I don't like the sight of him. He looks too much like a bird.
He's not breathing anymore.
Everyone is screaming. Screaming. The plane suddenly veers right and amazingly, there is a moment of silence.
Screams. I'm going to die.
Still in the cockpit, I can see Miss Millet wobble and suddenly crash, displaying her knickers in a most unladylike fashion. Ha. A quick glance out the window tells me that we're still flying over mountains. I imagine myself squished, like the pilot, with ice cubes for blood. Would we ever be found? Would I die straight away, or slowly and painfully? Would it even hurt?
And then suddenly the plane flips over and we're plunging down.
