* IF YOU LIKE SCARY STORIES/DREAMS WHICH ARE LONG – READ – OTHERWISE SOD OFF *
22 thousand feet above the atlantic ocean – and a sudden explosive decompression rips off the rear end of our boeing 747 (747-400 series) airline name unknown in the dream.
I’m sitting in an isle to the right, overlooking the right wing and its engine. This is a big plane and there is a middle isle.
The flight departs from Heathrow London, and is scheduled on a non stop flight to JFK International Airport (New York USA).
I spend the entire flight eyeing the young fertile impressionable air hostesses and make the most of a mundane depressing flight surrounded by people of an inferior intellectual worth, ah such a joy air travel they say. I order a series of beer’s to begin with and a father of a young 8 year old brat asks me if his son could sit in my seat and savour the view whilst I keep him company. The Kid seems nice enough at first and his old man seems like a nice humble guy, so i remember thinking ‘why not ?’
I GRIP a suitcase tightly as it contains some very valuable surgical tools, tools which will be utilised in their extremest sense in a ‘game’ that I will play with a detective in NY Brookyln.
An hour passes by, and I’ve drank a little too many Jack Daniels on the rocks (I drank 9 beers prior to this) and I get up and request that I be allowed to open my violin case as im ‘bored’.
The kid at the isle doesn’t shut up – in fact I order ear muffs and headache pills. He just doesn’t shut up. The thought of luring him to an emergency exit and kicking his little backside out of the plane at 22 thousand feet occurs to me. But I couldn’t hurt a child I recall thinking.
Now, bare with me – this is important.
What happens next is plane weird. pardon the pun.
A part of the undercarriage at the rear section of the plane breaks off, spins upwards freakishly and smashes the stabiliser (horizontal tail of the wing at the end shaped like a triangle, if u still dont know wtf I’m talking about you’re thick as sin and ought to experience my dream in real life. j/k).
anyway, the seats in our plane are pulled back with immense force and I remember a bitter cold wind of up to 200mph smashing into my face, as my tie flaps over my face and my shades vanish out of a window.
the explosive decompression also causes an emergency door to rip out somehow, and the kids dad sitting next to it is sucked out into the sky. Sucks to have been sitting in THAT seat I remembered thinking.
I’m still not content with air service and get off my chair, battling the terrifying wind force trying to make it to the stewerd drink cabin – i need another drink. I notice an air stewerd plod towards me, with a large piece of debris wedged between his neck and back, i realise its a piece of broken chair. He coughs blood, I realise hes got seconds left before he goes – so I smugly push him aside and reach for the drinks cabnet.
The plane starts taking a nose dive and I hear an air hostess rush towards ppl screaming through the howling air noise " are you able to fly a plane ???"
I calmly pour a drink, im developing a frozen moustache about now and my shoes are turning into a pair of ice cubes….but I must have this one drink.
The kid emerges out of no where and says ‘oi mister, let me have some of that you w4nker ! "
this annoys me, so i lift him up from the shirt collar and slap him 9 times across the face and throw him out of a window. I continue to drink my lovely alcoholic beverage in calmness.
She races up to, and asks me ‘" sir can you fly a plane ?"
i tell her "can you give a bj at 22 thousand feet ? "
she replies " sir ? "
I place my hands on her shouldesr and guide her to the floor on her knees – she unzips my zipper and i’ll leave the rest to your imagination. Oh and im sipping my Jack Daniels during the ordeal. She could barely have been more than 25, a buxon brunette.
After she finishes her duties, and ive finished mine – i quickly pour one last drink and march towards the cockpit doors….the turbulance and the ferocity of their wind force makes it difficult to breathe and I sense a case of dementia settling in.
I kick the door several times but it wont jolt.
So, I rush back to my seat – open my brief case and pull out a powerfuless cordless drill.
I make a series of holes and kick the door one last time – im inside.
I sit down, put on the headpiece and analyse the controls before me.
I check altitude, i check fuel levels, engine power etc etc
I manage to establish coms with air control and they help me guide the plane to boston airport instead.
we land safely and everybody on the ground claps for me.
Was a great hero in this dream or a mere alcoholic c@nt who killed the little kid ?
An alcoholic hero, ridding the world of an annoying brat whilst consuming one last, greatly required beverage and saving a plane load of passengers, but most importantly, yourself. I like this story. Now stay off the cheese tonight. Or in second thoughts, maybe not.
