My mother, father, and (weirdly) Blessed (the little boy my mother sometimes watches from next door...meet him HERE) were going somewhere in Europe. At some point we transferred to a smaller plane, as we were going to some small European city without a major airport.
There was some turbulence, because we were flying in a storm, apparently. The pilot mentioned engine trouble at one point. In the midst of all the commotion, I fell asleep, because I remember waking up, asking if we'd landed yet. We hadn't. Looking out the window, the clouds, rain, and lightning suddenly cleared, and all I could see was water. Our plane began to dive toward a lake that was ahead of us. For some reason, we were extremely relaxed. I can picture my father leaning forward in his seat, peering out the window. I strapped him into his seat belt. Blessed was coloring on the floor, and I strapped him into his seat. My mother sat next to me, and I can picture holding her chest the way a driver in a car would brace a front seat passenger when making a sudden stop.
We were clearly going down. All aboard were oddly quiet, though mortified. We hit water...and bounced. Hit water again, skid on the surface, and then slowly sank.
"Oh shit! We're sinking," I remember (calmly) announcing as we began sinking. I can't picture how many passengers there were clearly, but nobody moved really. A knife appeared and I cut my father from his seat belt. I was about waist deep at this point.
No sign of Blessed.
I helped get my mother out the emergency exit, which was, for some reason, through the ceiling of the cabin.
Back in the cabin, I glanced to my left and saw a child's red sneaker floating in the water. Looking down, I saw Blessed strapped in his seat, underwater, motionless. Snatched him out of the water, got to the surface and laid him out...literally, on TOP of the water. He was non responsive. Somehow I gave that boy CPR, pumped and beat that chest...he coughed up water, and announced, "I made it!" And though the plane was empty by now, I heard applause...?
I can picture my mother laid out, banged up, saying how horrible she felt: we would be missing some exhibit we signed up for in whatever country we were visiting.
My father, true to form, kept mentioning writing a stern letter to the airline's customer service department.
Blessed (who wasn't speaking full, clear sentences last time I'd seen him back in VA) kept announcing, "I made it!"
I cried from joy that I was able to rescue my family. Tired from the day's turn of events, I laid down near the tail of the plane.
And I died.
Then I woke up. Jumped up, actually. Terrified.
And here I am, wide awake at 4:05 am (goddamn Pacific time).
Off to call Mom and Dad.