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The plane didn’t go down when the eyes appeared in the sky. The plane didn’t go down as the world below it rend and burned. The plane didn’t go down when everyone on board started to writhe and change. As their flesh tore and bones twist, as their bodies became homes to maggots and flies. The plane didn’t go down, even though the pilot is surely incapable of flying anymore, if the growling and screams from the cockpit are to indict.
The plane didn’t go down even as it flew over where it was supposed to land, and though I think I no longer wanted to go where I was headed, it can’t be worse than here. The plane didn’t go down even as fuel ran out (I had braved a trip into the cockpit and checked the gauge). The plane didn’t go down when the maddened pilot clawed open an yellow door and fled into the corridors beyond (I’ve stopped questioning how it’s possible, it hurts my brain). The plane didn’t go down as a thing that used to be one of my fellow passengers (it’s not human anymore, can’t be human anymore) flung open the emergency exit and every thing (not human, not human, not human) was sucked out alongside it. Except me.
The plane doesn't go down, so I sit in my assigned seat. And wait.