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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. 8/27/2021
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