Personal Narrative: Debris

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All I remember are the sounds of screaming and the feeling of my heart wanting to leap out of my chest. The high pitched shrills of people trying to cope with what was about to happen. The pilot speaking into the intercom telling us that everything would be okay. I was so calm. I knew there was nothing to do and I can remember squeezing my mother, and my sisters hands so tight they were a crimson red. I remember the nose of the plane indenting its print into the freshly wet sand and then the world fading into a calming black. Now as I wake up, groggy and confused, I can see that the reassuring black had not been me dying, but rather passing out. As I look around I see people everywhere. Some crushed by the impact of the “landing”, some peacefully …show more content…
I have scrapes running up and down my body and a couple of bruises here and there. When I stand up I am relieved to see that nothing hurts and I feel fine. I scan the mess and know that this plane crash is nothing close to good. Debris is everywhere and blood. So much blood. I spot my mother and sister and run as fast as possible to them. I shake my sister and when she does not awake I shake harder. I do not want to believe what I know is true. My ten year old sister is dead and so is everyone else on this plane. I move from body to body searching for pulses and any sign of life. As I get to the cockpit and see the pilot slumped over in his chair, and his chest ripped open in a long gnarly scratch, Irelize my initial reaction is right. The only survivor is me.I crumple to my knees and cry until my eyes are blotchy red, and the tears have stopped coming. How have I managed to be the only survivor of this gruesome …show more content…
The plane is sideways, and the door is blocked. The windows on top are shattered leaving shimmering glass coating the deceased bodies. I reach for the opening and pull myself up with all my strength. Fresh air immediately fills my nostrils and leaves a calming sensation pulsing through my body. I pearch on the edge of the plane and see I can slide off at an angle and avoid getting sliced open by glass. Once I reach the sand and am balancing on steady feet, I scan the area looking for any sign of help. To my left I see foamy waves lapping at the fresh dewy sand. To my right there is a jungle biome but it appears no wildlife is present. In front of my is an open sand area filled with plane parts and seashells. I stand still and all I can hear is my breathing. I cock my head side to side and it soon can hear the gentle waves curling up and pushing away from the shore. I head to the ocean to clean up because I feel like a dirty mess. When I reach the shore, I stare into my reflection and see a bloody broken face staring back. My dirty blonde hair is in knots, and my curls twist around each other. My brown eyes are bloodshot and my face is filled with scratches and bumps. I kneel into the water and splash my face with the salt water until it burns the wounds. When I was young my dad had always taken me out in the country and we star gazed. Now yearning to go home, I lay down into the sand and curl up
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