As I mentioned in my last post, I recently joined a creative writing group. Part of the weekly homework was doing a stream of consciousness writing exercise, similar to “The Rose.” We got a different image emailed to us and got 20 minutes to write, as opposed to 10. Like “The Rose,” this piece is intended to be completely organic, no scratching out or deleting, no hesitation. I broke the rules a bit again, even finding my mind wandering as I wrote. However, I think this exercise is a good one to practice for strengthening focus and mental clarity. The result of my second writing exercise is below, with the image for reference.
He sat still for a few minutes after the crash, everyone did. Maybe it was shock, or maybe it was the logical thing to do after a collision. Everyone wanted to make sure everything was still in place; bones, organs, teeth.
Looking across the aisle showed that some people were luckier than others. There was one woman in the left row, near the front. She was the center of everyone’s attention. A piece of the plane’s wall had come loose and a jagged edge was buried in her chest. Blood-stained metal protruded from the back of her seat, and Malcolm could have sworn he heard panicked, gargled breaths for a few seconds, before her body went still.
Malcolm was seated one row behind, and one to the right, occupying the plane’s center. He flexed his fingers and his toes almost like a reflex, relaxed that movement didn’t bring any pain.
His coat, like everyone else’s, was stowed in the overhead cabin. He knew he needed to get it now, but he still hesitated to move. As snow and cold air began to pour in from outside, everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to take charge. The captain and c0-pilot hadn’t moved from the cockpit yet, and Malcolm was sure they wouldn’t be moving again.
He unbuckled his seatbelt, with the clasp sounding like a thunder strike in the cabin’s eerie quiet. He scuttled past his neighbour, whose feet recoiled like a snake. He could feel eyes burning a hole through him as he put his coat on, and soon a voice broke the silence.
“Where are you going?”
It was a woman one row behind him. He remembered seeing her earlier; the happiness as he took in her features, and the dismay at seeing the wedding ring on her finger.
“Out of here. The pilots would have come out by now if they were alive. I don’t see the flight attendants taking much action here. We need to try to find shelter, or we’ll freeze and starve in here.”
Malcolm looked to the flight attendants as she spoke, an even smattering of men and women among the four. There seats were just ahead of the cockpit, facing the passengers. They all looked to be in their twenties, picked for looks, not experience. They didn’t look like they had any plans of moving either.
Malcolm made his way to the opening in the plane, wanting to leave before the inevitable squabble broke out among the panicked passengers. The tear was almost at ground level, only requiring a high step for Malcolm to get outside.
He took a second to peer out, dismayed to see that a winter wonderland was all that greeted him. He took a step out, avoiding looking at the corpse to his left. Behind him, he heard arguments breaking out, but he also heard footsteps following him. Then he heard a voice calling out. He thought he was hearing a name, it was a word he didn’t recognize. Then he realized someone was calling to him, and that the footsteps following him didn’t belong to a passenger. The snow revealed six hulking shadows behind him, assembled much too fast to be other passengers.