* * * * * DO WHAT YOU LOVE * * * * *
They huddled on a floor slickened by blood and excrement. The fuselage shuddered, hurtling over tarmac hot enough to melt wheels. Vibrations reached critical levels while hands, seeking stability, clenched ropes and duct-tape
There were no flight attendants instructing them to lock seatbacks upright as they escaped into cloudless skies.
By Lisa H. Owens
Created for an Inner Circle Writers’ Group 50-word Flash Fiction Friday.