This is the Captain Speaking

Pete Kingsley
Jul 24, 2017 · 3 min read

“This is the captain speaking.” I said with in sterile, practiced calm. I released the button and held the mic to my chest. What in the world would I say? Everyone can hear the warning sirens blaring around the cockpit. Stick to the script, I told myself.

I clicked the mic back to life. “You may think we’re in a pretty bad way folks, but don’t believe everything you see out the window.” I grunted when the plane jolted me against my shoulder restraints. “We have a trained team up here, and we’ve seen worse than this.” I put away the microphone and shot a glance over to Ryan, my unconscious copilot. He was covered in sweat that made his blonde hair stick to his forehead and the jolting ride made his body slump at a strange angle. The poor kid has only been with the airline for two months. Looking at him sleep made something inside of me cringe at the lie I had just told. Not only that, but the crying and screaming had evolved into yelling. Even the flight attendants didn’t believe me. I knew because I heard Suzette’s voice, always cold, professional, and aloof, arguing with the others in my defense. The image of her perfect red hair tucked behind her ears and the disarming smile flashed into my mind, and I was ashamed of myself. I had known her for almost twenty years and had never lied. I had only a few minutes to be a better man than the script made me. I could start to see the different shades of farmland that were getting closer. I lowered my head and retrieved the mic again.

“Hey everyone. Okay, okay! It’s pretty bad. We’ve lost the four engines and our slats and flaps are decoupled. There was a dust cloud, or volcanic debris that jammed everything up. My copilot is out and I’m alone at the controls.” I knew I was yelling, so I paused and thought, “We may not make it up out of this one, so if you have cell phones…feel free to use them.” The microphone clicked off and I held it while I looked out the window.

“They only have 30 seconds anyway,” I thought out loud.

I heard quiet conversations, and in a few moments they were stilled. I said my own prayer, asking for forgiveness for all the things a man does that he shouldn’t, but mostly for the things I didn’t do that I should have. I never got married or had kids. I never learned a second language or bought that 1966 Mustang. I never…The prayer should have been longer, but I only had 15 more seconds.

I pushed the button again. “There’s something else I have to,” another jolt almost whipped me back against my head rest, “…my name is Martin. I’ve been a pilot for nineteen years and I’ve never announced my first name.” Someone yelled at me to shut up and drive. “My name is Martin!” I said desperately. “And I’m sorry.” There was no more yelling, only the wind. “I’m sorry I didn’t save the engines. I’m sorry I’m not going to see your faces and shake your hands when you leave. I’m sorry,” I said, “that I can’t get you home.” Five seconds.

Strange to me, but as I spoke even the muffled sobs ended. The airplane streaked across the sky with everyone inside it completely silent. As the wind roared right outside my double reinforced windscreen, I knew the contrails coming from the wings would leave a line going straight into our crash site, making us easy to find. Once they started looking for us.

Pete Kingsley

Written by

My writing is a collection of flash fiction and bedtime stories that I've been telling for about 20 years.

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