Waiting- a composition

   I am waiting for my flight to New York. Finally! I think, finally! I have been apart from my family for such a long time already. Two years, ten days, eight hours and counting. I can barely sit still in the waiting chair.

   "Passengers of flight C700 from Boston to New York, please start boarding," I hear the announcer say. I hurriedly got up and stood in line for the officers to check my documents. I tap my feet impatiently while seated on board the plane, feeling the seconds drag by slowly. Finally, finally, the air plane took off on its two-hour journey. I swallow saliva to keep my ears from feeling muffled as the plane ascended, and took out a picture of my family. The picture of my radiant mother, stern father, and happy-go-lucky brother is outdated. I wonder, how do they look like now? My brother would be thirteen this year; will his voice have broken? How will it sound like? While pondering the possibilities, I fell asleep.

   "Everyone! Remain seated with your hands on your heads! Now!" came the rough shout that roused me from sleep. I open my eyes and saw two men pointing guns and rifles at us. One passenger's body lay slack in it's seat. I can see red liquid flowing freely from a hole in it's side. The sight had me scared senseless, and I obeyed immediately. The two men- terrorists, I now know- searched us for all possible weapons. Even stationery is taken. I can see my expression reflected on each of the passengers' faces. I see eyes wide open and faces drained white with fear, unshed tears in their eyes and stifled sobs stuck in their throats. We do not dare to take the risk of sobbing.

   A good ten minutes later, the two terrorists deemed us harmless, and visibly relaxed. They sat down and prayed, all the while keeping their roving eyes upon us. I look out the window and had to swallow a gasp. We are in New York! Suddenly, the two men rushed into the cockpit, seemingly excited. It seems like we are nearing their destination. I take a glance out once more, seeing two sky-scraping towers grow larger as we approach. Oh no! I cry inwardly, the World Trade Centre! Please, please do not let this be a suicide bombing! Please, God, please! I pray, although the end seems inevitable. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray with all my might.

   I am waiting. What am I waiting for? Death? Rescue? I suck in a smoky, suffocating breath. Judging by the fact that I can no longer feel my legs, I have no doubt that they are smashed. I glance up at the debris of a now non-existent building that buried me, and think of my family again. This time, fear and sadness mingle with those thoughts. I will never see my parents grow full heads of white hair, nor hear the low voice of my brother's. Will it be tenor or bass? I smile sadly as tears prick my eyes. I will never know.

   I am cold, but the coldness is gradually fading. I feel a sense of calmness washing over me. I'll go to heaven and prepare places for my family first, I think. I close my eyes, realising that what I was waiting for is about to come: death.


-- Note--
I think that this is my first tragic story. I like to write happy endings. :D
And, well, it didn't turn out well. So I'm posting this for future reference. ^^

Hahahaha RS and BJ wrote about waiting for the toilet. Scored 23 and 22 respectively. *Envious*
Me, not even close. Sigh....
My English is seriously deproving. At this rate my A will be gone. T-T
Since I didn't score well for my Chinese 'O' Level paper, I have to score for English. HAVE TO.
Wish me luck!