Fighting Gravity

This is crazy.
Am I dreaming?
It's just wrong.
Wrong wrong wrong.
It's wrongness given form, then stamped and labelled with giant red letters.
W. R. O. N. G.

There's a bloody big hole, in the side of this... fucking plane.

I can see the sky outside. It's just floating; right there. I can almost touch it. Miles and miles of clear blue sky, warm open sunlight, and whisps of fluffy white clouds.

Am I the only one who comprehends this situation? They're all just sitting there, all huddled up close. Tight and tense and rigid. In their own little worlds. All oblivious to this massive gap in the side of the plane although it's big enough to push a piano through.

The man in charge barks an order at one of the other guys. The one who'd said his name was Kenny. Kenny, like the kid in that cartoon, who dies every week.
Kenny had grinned as he'd told us that.
He clearly had been dying to say it all day.

Kenny gets up and throws himself out of the plane.

If I weren't frozen rigid, I would crawl to the edge (bollocks) and try to watch as Kenny falls further and further out of reach, shrinking into a tiny speck of nothing. But I can't move. I need to stay away from that unnatural opening.

Jen is sitting next to me. She's squashed up right next to me and she can't sit still. Not even for a second. She's squirming and shifting and straining and stretching against me, and to be honest, it's really putting me off. She might knock me and I might fall or roll or trip or.... something. I could fall out of the hole. It's not safe.

She keeps shouting excitedly at me. I can't hear a word she's saying over the roar of the engine. She must know this, because I'd tried shouting back at her the first time, but of course she'd heard me no better than I hear her.
Not that it matters.

Jen is one of those vital and rare forces of nature.
She needs no words to communicate the things she has to share.
She sparkles and she shines for me.

I wish I did for her.

The open sunlight cools for just a moment. Bands of darkness ripple my mask as the rays are filtered by a passing cloud.
Jennifer stops for a fraction of a second.
Our eyes lock for a fraction of a second.

She discovers that big gateway to nothing as if for the first time.

The man in charge barks another order.
Jennifer and the world start moving again.

And even as I continue to push and edge myself in the other direction,
she gets up and throws herself out of the plane.