Japan (Why I Will Never Go)

I squirmed quietly in the hard airplane seat, trying to stretch my legs out. Through the scratched window, I could see thick gray clouds swirling by. From where I sat, I could reach over and touch my mother's hand on the armrest to my right. My younger sister occupied the window seat. Directly in front of me sat my father, and my brother sat across the aisle. They claimed that having aisle seats was more important than sitting together.

Japan is a mysterious country, a land of apple blossoms and rice paddies. It is a land of skyscrapers and simple farmers. It is a land of tradition and secrets. It was where we were going to spend the next two years of our lives.

But before we could enjoy Japan, we had to endure the fourteen-hour flight there. Personally, my endurance was beginning to run out. The cramped way I had to sit, the filthiness of the tiny airplane toilets, and the endless cycling of stale movies through the back-of-the-seat screen were all starting to get to me. I was ready for it to be over NOW.

I glanced out the window again. A break was visible through the clouds. At first I thought I was looking at darker clouds beneath us, but then I noticed the breaking waves.

The ocean was rising to meet us! I panicked, grasping my mother's hand hard. "We're going down!" I heard myself say. My mother looked at me oddly as the plane hit the water with a gurgle of water and a snap of the wings breaking off.