Pilot Baumann took the joystick in front of him and shoved it downwards. The average sized airbus trembled from the sudden change of path, and then tipped forward, nose first. Power surged through his hands and gave him a euphoria similar to leaping off of a cliff.
“Pilot Baumann! Klaus! What are you… Klaus! Listen to me!” Constance shrieked at her co-pilot as she tried attempted to pry his sweaty fingers off the control stick with her tiny hands. She was just a miniscule nuisance to Klaus, like a fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing in front of his face.
“Shut up, Constance,” he growled.
Despite the time he drowned his brother and no one knew, despite all the failed therapy sessions, despite the darkest parts of his mind that haunted him in the deepest hours of the night that no one could ever know about, for some reason, he was presented this power. And all of a sudden, he realized, this power made him omnipotent. It was like he could force the earth to quake under his command.
“Klaus please, please stop” his co-pilot pleaded, with a shaky, teary voice. She grasped his arm and attempted to pry it off the controls as she continued to try and reason with him. “I’m only 24, please Klaus, please don’t do this, I have so much to do, I can’t die... Pilot Baumann, listen to me, this is not what you want to do...”
She scratched, clawed, punched, for herself and for her 135 passengers. Soon enough, Klaus lost all good conscience within him and curled his other hand into a massive fist and swung it against the side of her head to knock her unconscious.
“I told her to shut up.”
The cockpit door was locked. All he could hear were the panicked screeches of the people next to them. Nothing could stop him now.
The radio crackled and a nervous voice came through. “Pilot? Do you hear me?” Klaus slammed the radio switch shut.
He gripped the control stick tighter and breathed hoarsely, driven with control and madness. The shrill screams of the passengers on the plane chilled his bones, but in a satisfying way.
He had 135 lives in his hands. Some mothers, some fathers, some husbands, some wives, some children, some grandchildren, and their lives were all his to dictate. Like puppets.
“Pilot! Sir? What’s going on in there?” one of the flight attendants yelled frantically. His outcries were muffled by the cockpit door and the rumble of the plane. He went to ask again, but was then pulled to the floor of the plane by the sheer gravitational force of the plane’s increasing dive towards the ocean beneath it. A metal supply cart collapsed on him. His neck snapped and he stopped breathing. The cabin lights were flickering like anxious fireflies and the luggage all flew to the front of the plane, piling against the cockpit door. Behind the door, Klaus continued to drive his passengers towards their death. He grunted as velocity increased and shut his eyes tight.
20,000, 19,000, 18,000 feet now, their altitude rapidly decreased. Klaus could now identify the inky water beneath him by catching the moon’s reflections on its gentle waves. The dark sky masked his crazed expression, his wide eyes, his pursed lips. A few thousand more feet, come on, get this over with.
The main cabin was a disaster at this point, with half of its inhabitants senseless and the other half crying and praying. Parents held their children tight, even though they were mostly unconscious by now, and wished with every part of their soul for a miracle to save their lives. Deep down in their hearts, they knew that they wouldn’t be saved. A few passengers curiously opened their windows and saw an eternally black sky and an icy looking ocean underneath it. The raven colored night scape flashed past the eyes of the onlookers. Soon enough, the emergency lights finally lost power and turned off, leaving the cabin dark. It became quieter, as if everyone had suddenly and simultaneously come to terms with their fate. Any outcries of panic were hushed to frenzied whispers, questions, and whimpers. The passengers’ heart beats slowed down, and their breathing steadied.
The plane was now violently shuddering as it neared the surface of the earth. The smell of burning hardware became more prominent, with smoke snaking into the main cabin like fog rolling in on a Sunday morning. It creeped its way into the cockpit, where Klaus had become too disoriented to properly crash the plane in the quickest and most destructive way possible. His head spun and his body ached. His brain throbbed and demanded him to keep pushing, keep moving, keep diving down. His blood pumped faster and his hands started to quake. He closed his eyes tightly and peeled them open again when he was struck with a pang of fear.
“I don’t want this,” he gasped. “I don’t want this, I don’t want this…” He grappled for the controls on the malfunctioning dashboard as his daughter’s young face passed his mind. He saw everything that he was about to lose as he attempted to salvage his grave mistake. Hot tears rushed out of his strained eyes and down his face, and he pushed every button and pulled every lever he could.
Seconds later, Klaus’s plane made contact with the icy water and sunk under the night sky.
