The Drop

Skydiving is pretty fun. I mean, it’s definitely an acquired taste, and surely not for the faint of heart, but it’s pretty damn fun. The wind screaming past you, the world looming closer and closer, the excitement building in your chest as adrenaline chases through your mind, dopamine pulsates across the synapses in your brain, and then at just the right moment you grab the cord of the parachute and your body is jerked upwards in a deft, swift movement that saves you from plummeting to your demise. You might feel dizzy now, but for the adrenaline-junkies of today, it’s nothing new. I remember the first time I went skydiving with my dad and my older sister. My dad was a retired stuntman, he’d grown too old for the job, and he had broken one too many bones. I was fourteen, and one day he turned to me in the car with a huge grin on his face. “Mikey,” he said, his bright grey eyes flashing with mischief, and his salt-and-pepper hair whipping his face as air tore through the open window. “Yeah, dad?” I had asked, glancing up from my phone. “We should go skydiving.” Now, at first I had completely disagreed, but once my older sister, Violet, volunteered my place, I jumped to the opportunity. But who wouldn’t do anything to one-up their sibling? My father, of course, admitted the both of us, thinking it would be a good bonding experience. So, two weeks later we found ourselves on a tiny plane, all crammed in one seat as one of the men with us told us how the parachutes worked, and who would be going with us. Before I knew it, I had my camera in hand and I was strapped in front of a thirty-something-old man, waiting for the go. My heart was thundering in my chest, and I waited, looking to my right, where my sister Violet and her partner stood. She looked completely terrified. I waited, and just as my heart calmed itself, they jumped. Skydiving soon became a ritual with my father and I. Violet had hated it, so we both continued our perilous adventures into the troposphere. We jumped on my graduation day, we jumped on my wedding (with my reluctant wife, Danielle), and finally, I prepared to take one last venture. My father had died of a heart attack at sixty-seven. It was too early. My friend and skydiving partner Vance patted my back as I stepped into the plane hangar. I gave Danielle a kiss on the cheek, and turned to him. “Well, Mikey?” he asked, “what’ll it be this time?” “One last jump,” I smiled, “for dad.” Vance nodded his head solemnly, and we boarded the plane, two crew members and the pilot following with. I secured my parachute over my shoulders, and they started the plane. I poked my head through the window, and called down to Danielle, “I’ll see you on the ground, Dani!” She beamed and waved as the plane started off. I looked outside. It wasn’t a very good day for flying, the clouds were quite low to the ground, and despite the sun peeking through them once in a while, it wasn’t very bright. We flew up high, and I felt my ears pop uncomfortably. I sat back, and Vance grinned at me. “You know what to do,” he said, “I’ll follow right after you.” I nodded, and waited until we got a little bit higher up. The clouds were dense where we were in the sky, but I could see the ground very faintly below myself. As we flew along the ground, I took a breath. “What do you think, Vance?” I asked, smiling a little bit. “Yeah?” he asked. “Do you think my dad would be happy that I’m doing this for him?” I looked up at him. Vance nodded. “I think he’d be very happy.” Suddenly, something hit the plane. I gasped, pulling away from the open door before I could tumble out. Vance looked around in surprise. “Did you hear that?” I breathed. He frowned and nodded, poking his head into the main cabin, speaking to the pilots. The plane was hit again, this time, harder, and I saw a brief flash of black near the wing. My heart skipped a beat. I ran up to the window, looking around in fright. Suddenly, there was a scream of metal as something scratched slowly and meticulously along the top. I covered my ears, crying out as the jarring sound tore across the roof of the plane. Vance ran from the main cabin, grabbing the door and trying to pull it shut. “What’s going on?! What is that?!” I asked, my heart racing. “We’re going down. It’s not safe up here,” he gasped. “But what is that thing?” I asked. Vance looked straight into my eyes, and I saw a terrified look in them. He pulled the door closed, and the plane moved forward through the air. There was a horrible crash as, in the main cabin, a window shattered. We both ran into the room, and the pilot was screaming, clutching his neck. Huge shards of glass stuck out from nearly every part of his body. He gasped, pointing desperately at the controls of the plane. Vance cried out in terror, taking over for the pilot. “We have to jump,” he said. “What the hell is that thing, Vance?!” I cried, “are we under attack?!” “Just trust me! Jump, like our original plan!” “But-” Vance stood and grabbed my shoulders. “I am going to land this fucking plane, Mikey, and you are going to jump right now. I don’t care what you think, or what you want, or even what you’re afraid of. Go.” I pulled away from him, and I ran back to the door of the plane. I heard another crash, and the plane rocked dangerously. I grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it open, my entire body shaking. I was nearly swept out as the wind met me, and I grabbed the handle of the door, making sure my parachute was secure. My heart pounding, I looked behind myself one last time, and then leapt from the plane. I never saw what was attacking the plane, but I did see the explosion, and I watched as huge pieces of the plane streaked towards the ground almost as fast as I did. I saw the great plume of smoke as the body of the plane plunged downward. We both skydived, but I pulled on the cord of my parachute, and landed safely. I never told the news agencies about what had happened on the plane. I said that I had jumped, and seconds later, the plane exploded. I never told my family, nor my closest friends. I will never tell anyone of what happened, and I trust that you won’t, either. Maybe someone will believe my story. Maybe someone won’t. Perhaps, all of you won’t. I don’t care. However you perceive it, I have no answers for you of what that thing was. I lay in bed at night, wondering over and over, pondering. I hope whatever it was, that it won’t come after me. I don’t know. On the other hand, I know I will never skydive again.