She was on the surface of the ocean, floating among the debris, alone, in semi darkness. It was world of water and sky and of nothing else. Well, how in the world had she survived that? It was absolutely incredible. The plane crashed and she hadn't even lost her purse, which she still had in her hand on impact, because she had been looking for a tissue. She could almost laugh. At least she wouldn't need to arrange to replace her credit cards.
She turned over and swam to one of the larger pieces of debris, still clutching her purse in one hand. She hoped it would take her weight if she climbed on top of it. It was difficult to get on it, because the edge was awkward, but it didn't sink and she took stock of her situation.
Oddly she wasn't cold – that would come later, because she was feeling quite numb. Nothing hurt. She didn't even feel wet. That would only be natural, after everything she'd been through. There was a hint of the dawn that was to come on the horizon, but as yet, there was only the light from the moon. There was no-one out there, she was sure of that. Not a single soul. She called out anyway, in the hopes of an answer. After all, if she had survived, why not someone else? There must be someone. Please don't let her be on her own.
But there was no sound.
'Oh,' she said to herself. It was comforting in some respect to hear some sound other than the lapping of the waves, even if her voice disappeared into nothingness.. That was it. She was the sole survivor. How had she done it? How had she been the lucky one? She ran her hands over her body. She must have taken some hurt, somewhere. They'd never believe her at home if she didn't have some scratches. But her numb hands could probe no areas of tenderness.
Then she noticed it, looking at her arm and feeling it with the other hand. Her sleeve wasn't wet. She patted herself down again, looking at her torso and legs as she did so. None of her clothes were wet. It was an illusion, surely, even if an illusion of sight and touch. She could not have climbed out of the water, and still be perfectly dry. She looked at her purse. It was open, but the inside was also perfectly dry. The tissues and wedding invitation were dry, as was everything else. She trailed a hand in the water. No ripple was raised by her action.
She hadn't survived.
She looked at her hand – but what did she see, and what did she do the seeing with? She knew now that her body was beneath the waves, where no-one would see it again.
A dream.
Not a dream. No-one had survived. Nobody did survive air crashes like this. The reality could not imagined away. Whatever she was imagining with.
Why was she here? After you died, weren't things supposed to happen? Angels? Or something. You were supposed to go somewhere, not hang around where you died. Only ghosts did that…