Astor Westen awoke flying. His eyes were not open, but within seconds it occurred to him that this was the truth. His arms and legs dangled out in front of him. He was flying horizontally. What a funny way to fly. Wait, there was no wind. Was he hovering sideways? Something tight hugged across his chest, cross-crossing and disappearing behind him. A seatbelt. His knuckles brushed lightly off rough, hard plastic. Astor realised he wasn't flying. He was dangling, horizontally, above something plastic, in a seatbelt. No flying involved. It occurred to Astor that he should probably open his eyes--
Ow! No! Bad idea. His temple burned when he tried to open them. Something slick slid down Astor's face. Astor ignored it by focusing on sounds. Creaking. Quite a bit of that, actually. Unsettlingly so. And wind. He couldn't feel the wind, but he could HEAR it. That was unlikely a good sign. After a few moments of dangling and windy-creaking, Astor's temple had stopped throbbing just enough so that he thought it safe to open his eyes.
Astor opened his eyes.
His newfound vision was met with a wall of square plastic, no bigger than a book, his knuckles a hair's width away. It was hanging by a thread, the corner stained with blood. The thing it was attached to was unmistakably leather, plump with the inner cushioning of a seat. Comfortable, expensive. Why was Astor dangling over a leather seat with a blood-stained plastic tray on the back? Wind whistled through a shattered circular window inches from Astor's face, sending a cool breeze through his lazy brown hair and fluttering between his eyelashes.
Window. Seat. Tray. Blood.
Astor managed to turn his neck to look across, his right. Two leather seats sat opposite, a metre across. They were facing down, on their side.
Oh. Now he remembered.
Astor was on a plane.
A plane that was NOT supposed to be vertical and covered in blood.
Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod. He was in a plane crash. Astor felt his throat quiver and emit some kind of strangled cry. He shook his head furiously, ignoring the pain on the right side of his face. Keep your shit together, brain,
he ordered. Get me out first.
With a ridiculous amount of effort, Astor forced his elbow to bend, bringing his hand to his hip. He danced his fingers around until he brushed off a chunky plastic button. He backtracked and set his index finger on it. Astor braced himself. This would not be fun.
Click! The clasp unclasped, the seatbelt whipping back, and Astor tried desperately to morph into a ball as he fell. It was only about three feet to the seat in front of/under him, but Astor still winced as his shoulder connected. The small impact final knocked the tray off, sending it clattering past the rows of seats to the front of the plane. The entire vessel creaked monumentally when Astor touched leather. No more of that. He regained himself and peaked over the edge, to see where the tray had landed, to see a couple more rows of seats, some occupied by people unmoving, but what really grabbed Astor's attention was the fact that the tray had not reached the front of the plane, where the pilot should be, because there was no front of the plane. Instead, there was a gaping hole, looking down at a rocky cliff face and the chippy ocean waves that succeeded it.
The plane was dangling over a cliff. How very cinematic.
Astor officially declared the tray fucked and awkwardly turned onto his back, looking to the back of the plane. Oh look, he thought, a sky. There was no back to the plane. Somebody had taken out either end of the battleship. And from the sound of the creaking, Astor gathered he didn't have much time until he was sunk.
Donna: What happened? Do you want to talk about it? I have ice cream!
Harvey: It's 8.A.M.
Donna: Which is why God made Chunky Monkey. It has chocolate and bananas. Bananas are part of a healthy breakfast. And who cares about bananas? It has chocolate!...Okay, you caught me: I don't even eat the bananas.
--Donna and Harvey, "Suits".
I totally stole your idea with WTSB. I've decided to post a page or two of content every few days that will make up a big-ass story. Nowhere has been brewing in my brain for awhile, kind of a modernish Lord of the Flies (I hope that's a good analogy, considering I haven't read it...) meets Lost (which I am currently watching, but don't worry, no time-travelly, smoke monster crap here).