
“You may now turn your electronic devices on.” The flight attendant’s announcement dropped like a lead weight in my stomach.
I wanted to leave my phone off, letting calls go straight to voice mail, but then I’d have a record of his message on continuous loop ~ punishing myself, refusing to erase it, keeping it to listen to over and over.
The break had to be clean, we couldn’t just be friends.
The seat belt lights went out and I unbuckled. I had just closed my eyes, when it felt like the bottom of the plane fell out.
Other passengers around me screamed. The captain’s voiced came on the intercom telling us to secure our seats and buckle in. Looking out my window, I saw blue smoke billowing out of the engines and the ground rising up at an uncomfortable speed.
Pulling my phone out of my pants pocket, I clicked on his number. A part of me wanted him to not answer, to leave my own message for him to listen to for eternity.
“Hello?”
My mouth went dry and my tongue felt heavy.
“Hello?”
Words wouldn’t form and no sound made its way from my throat.
“Hello?”
“Reid, it’s me.”
“Hey! I wondered when you’d call. I can still pick you up. When does your flight arrive?”
I almost laughed. Holding the phone tight against my ear, I hoped he couldn’t hear all the background mayhem ~ women and children were crying, several people were loudly praying.
“You don’t need to pick me up,”
“Connie, don’t do this. We can work it out, please don’t give up on us.”
An oxygen mask fell from its overhead compartment. Grabbing the nosepiece, I filled my lungs with gas, knowing the effort was futile.
“No, Reid. There are no more chances. I did love you once, remember that.”
“Connie!”
I left the connection open, knowing he’d hear the inevitable explosion. My last thought was wondering if we’d make the lead on the evening news.
Trifecta, a weekly one-word prompt, challenges writers to use that word in its third definition form, using no less than 33 words or no more than 333. The week’s prompt is: Flight [noun \ flīt \] 3a: a trip made by or in an airplane or spacecraft; b: a scheduled airplane trip.

Oh my. I love this so much. The startling twist, then the short, staccato sentences after it. I could feel the tightly controlled hysteria. “There are no more chances.” *chills*
Bravo.
LikeLike
WHAT THE… oh my heck Tara! This was an (dare I say it) explosive bit of emotion packed wording. Brava Chica, brava!
LikeLike
Quite a break up line. Yikes. Great writing. I felt every bump of that plane as it descended.
LikeLike
Gave me chills!
LikeLike
what an explosive break! interesting that she wanted to leave him one of those eternally haunting messages – whatever she once felt for him, what she feels for him now is downright nasty!
LikeLike
I was NOT expecting that kind of a last flight! She was downright cruel about it, though. “I did love you once”. No ‘hey I’m dying, I’ll let you believe I loved you’ generosity. Clean break? No. Complete break? Absolutely.
LikeLike
This was well done. I wanted to read more, I think. Well, maybe not. Great writing.
LikeLike
oh crap, I felt my stomach drop right along with that plane!!
LikeLike
Oh, my.
LikeLike
ooh, I love the way your blog looks.
and this was very good, all I could think was, “well that’s one way to break up”. WOW.
chances are he deserved it. 😉
LikeLike