Glow in the Throat of Chaos

The cabin hummed in uneasy silence,  

a stillness that cracked, then shattered.  

Flight attendants danced in rehearsed panic,  

life vests sprouting like neon petals.  

Brace positions whispered through clenched jaws.  

Shoes stripped, objects pocketed, prayers exhaled.  

The windows bled blue, electric and unnatural—  

not fire, but molten ash, invisible claws.  

Glass and rock crushed fine as breath,  

siphoned into engines that gasped, seized.  

Altitude peeled away like tattered wallpaper.  

Oxygen masks bloomed, but one refused to give.  

The Captain’s voice became a metronome of terror,  

counting down what eight minutes could hold.  

The ocean pulled the plane with open arms,  

while the engines coughed and held their tongue.  

At 10,000 feet, desperation became ignition.  

One engine caught, then another answered—  

a chorus of metal finding its roar.  

The silence turned back to breath.