“5…4…3…2…1!” Katie shouts as she looks out from the small window excitedly.  Paris is only 7 hours away.

The TWA flight takes off towards the night sky, shooting beyond the clouds just like innumerable others have before it. Katie’s ears pop, so that pain rushes up and crawls out of her eardrums. Her hands clutch her screaming ears while her legs flutter like the wings of a butterfly. Her eyes fill up with tears, sparkling in the dark cabin. She leans her head on her mother’s shoulder, her two strong little hands grabbing onto one big red dress. Her mother pacifies Katie and soon, the little girl falls asleep in the arms of her protector and hero. 

6 minutes after takeoff, Rico runs his fingers on top of his delicate camera, wiping off any stain painted by the can of soup that exploded all over him. He cracks each one of his knuckles, but gets incredibly irritated when his thumb does not pop. Rico stretches his arms like he is making taffy, pulling vigorously several times until he lets out a heavy sigh. The smell of old carpet hovers above the thin aisles, accompanied by the dim lights, and unleashes an ominous force that seizes the passengers. Rico, however, is not bothered. He hums a joyful melody while he cleans his soiled finger on a plain-white towel that lays on his armrest.

10 minutes after takeoff, Michel looks around anxiously, realizing that a button fell off from his well-ironed shirt. He scrambles the items inside his pocket in hopes of finding a replacement. Behind him, the man with a camera stretches, accidentally kicking Michel’s chair. He flinches when his finger collides with a small thumbtack. As the droplets of blood run out of his pale pinky, his anger ignites. Michel turns with force, staring into the man’s dilated pupils menacingly. 

11 minutes in the air, the plane is dead silent. Pam rests peacefully between her two daughters, softly running her hand through her youngest’s hair. She lies in Pam’s arms like an angel. The moonlight refracts through the window, summoning a halo hovering on top of

her head. 

11 minutes and 30 seconds, the floor quakes. Jed pulls his seatbelt tighter, and his face hardens. The beautiful coast of West Hampton Dunes is a minute spark on the edge of the flame called Long Island. As Jed puts his back against the seat, the floor quakes a second time. 

“Mom, I’m scared…” 

A beam of bright white illuminates the aisle like heaven’s gates opening, covering the cabin in Pure Light. Jed Johnson sits up slowly, amazed by what he can see - Andy Warhol now waiting at the edge of a starry night.