What Remains Behind

AN: this fic is darker than my previous ones, and not intended to be humorous in any way. There will be no miraculous escapes or sudden awakenings from strange dreams – but death is not necessarily the end, as will be seen.

Prologue

When an aircraft is about to crash, some people know exactly what is going on. A few sit silently thinking, 'see I was right,' because they have always felt that any flight they were on was bound to crash sooner or later. They have never really been able to believe that a great lump of metal could stay airborne, and what do you know, it can't. They are only experiencing what they have known all along would happen, and in a curious way are almost reconciled to imminent doom.

Some pray to their maker, some scream to block out all other sensation, and some fret about things done and not done. 'Who's going to pick up the shoes from the menders' right through to, 'I wish I'd made it up with him.' 'I can't believe that my last words to her were that her seams weren't straight.'

But there are some who are cocooned in a belief that what is happening is not in fact happening. 'Goodness, people can be so silly, haven't they encountered turbulence before?' No fear is felt before the moment that deprives them of anything to feel fear with. Rachel was lucky in this, if in nothing else.