I died on the same plane crash 244 times. It sounds like a bad dream, doesn’t it? But it wasn’t. It was my reality—an endless loop, a cursed fate I could neither escape nor comprehend.
The first time, I boarded Flight 907 with the usual rush of anticipation and anxiety that comes with air travel. A business trip, nothing extraordinary. I remember buckling my seatbelt, hearing the routine safety instructions, and watching as the plane soared into the sky. But what I didn’t expect was the sudden turbulence that hit us. The oxygen masks dropped, panic erupted, and moments later… darkness.
I woke up, sweating, back in my seat. The clock above read the same time, the safety instructions playing once more. My hands trembled as I realized I was living through it all again.
Crash after crash, my mind unraveled. At first, I thought it was a glitch in my memory, or maybe I was dreaming. But it wasn’t. Each time, I tried something different—unbuckling my seatbelt before the turbulence hit, switching seats, warning the flight attendants—but nothing worked. The outcome was always the same: the crash, the blackness, the return.
By the 50th time, I began memorizing every detail of the crash: the way the engine faltered, the gasps of the passengers, the seconds before impact. I even made friends on the flight—fellow passengers who, despite my warnings, never knew what was coming. They didn’t remember the last crash, but I did. Every one of them. Their faces. Their stories. Their screams.
Somewhere around the 100th crash, I stopped trying to change the outcome. Instead, I spent my time learning the plane’s layout, trying to find hidden clues, answers to why this was happening to me. Was it a punishment? A test? A cruel game played by some higher power?
The 200th crash was a turning point. I met a man—a stranger at first—who seemed to know me. He smiled when he saw me, a sad, knowing smile. “You’re stuck too, aren’t you?” he whispered. “I’ve died in this crash more times than I can count.”
He explained that he’d been trapped for even longer than I had, but unlike me, he had long accepted his fate. “There’s no way out,” he said. “The sooner you accept it, the sooner it’ll stop tormenting you.”
I couldn’t accept that. Not yet.
So here I am, 244 crashes later. I’ve memorized every moment of terror, every passenger’s last breath. And still, I search for an answer—a way to break free from this endless loop of death and rebirth.
Maybe one day, I’ll find it. But for now, the plane is climbing into the sky once again, and I know what’s coming.
Crash. Darkness. Repeat.