Flight 3A

My name is Sam. I’m a 13-year-old boy on a plane all by myself. Specifically, 3A. So, I get onto flight 3A and see a man sitting in my seat. Mine. And being my shy 13-year-old self, I walk up to the man and say, “Um, excuse me, mister.” I have to repeat myself before he looks up from his book.

”What do you want, kid?” he asks in a rude voice. I continue, “Oh, uh, that’s my seat, I think.”

He grunts and says, “Can’t you just sit next to me?” It sounds like a whine this time.

I say OK, and the plane takes off. The man starts a conversation. “What’s your name, kid?” 

“Sam,” I reply. “What’s yours?” 

He doesn’t respond for a long time. “I can’t tell you.”

I start to notice that he might be a bad person. He is in my seat, won’t get out of it, sounds rude and won’t tell me his name. Is he even supposed to be here?

As we get further into the flight, as in across the ocean, he says he has to use the bathroom. He walks to the front of the plane, but the bathroom is in the back. Now, I know something’s up. In his back pocket, I see the shape of a pistol! I jump up out of my seat and scream. The flight attendant comes over and asks what’s wrong. I reply, “That man has a gun!” and I might have said it way too loud, because the man and all the people on the plane are now staring at me.

“Oh, you must have seen wrong, little boy,” she says in a calming voice.

“No, no, I did, I really did!” I say more quietly than last time. The next thing I know, there is too much smoke to see, and I can barely breathe.

I grab my backpack and make my way out of all the smoke. From the looks of it, I am the only survivor. People are screaming in terror and running to boats. Then I realize I am in Manhattan. I ask a random person what building that was, and he says they were the Twin Towers! 

I start to freak out and run to the boats. It’s the fastest I’ve ever run in my entire life! I cut the line and jump onto the boat. Everyone is covered in ashes and soot. 

I sit down on the deck of the boat and think about what just happened. So, the guy that sat next to me was the guy that crashed the plane. He must have not had a ticket, and that’s why he sat in my seat. He didn’t want to tell me his name, either. But how did he get through security? I guess we’ll never know.