She Belongs To No One

Seraphina's POV

"M AYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY , this is November niner zero..."

The frightened voice of the pilot fades away, swallowed by the wind tearing at the Cessna from both sides. With trembling hands, I grip the seatbelt straps over my shoulders and press my back hard against the wool cushion of my seat as if pushing myself deeper will somehow give me more protection when we go down. I force cold air into my lungs between quiet pleas for help.

Please don't crash. Please...

In the seat next to mine, Marisol isn't quiet at all, crying out a stream of words in her native Spanish tongue. Curses or prayers? I cannot tell. Probably both right now.

Our eyes meet briefly, her dark ones shining with tears, screaming with fear. I think about reaching for her hoping to calm her down a little, but the plane suddenly shakes and jerks sideways. Overnight bags, left unzipped since the start of the flight when we all grabbed our phones and tablets, spill their contents. They spin through the air like confetti inside a snow globe.

I squeeze my eyes shut, holding my breath as the plane drops. "Brace for impact!" the pilot yells just a second before metal tears outside the window.

Marisol screams. A window breaks. Freezing Icelandic wind blasts my face. Strands of my hair stick to my cold cheeks as we spin through the air.

My stomach twists. My heart pounds faster than I can count.

Finally, the plane crashes, the terrible chorus of thuds, pops, tearing metal, and breaking bones filling the air around me as I toss and bounce in my seat. Something sharp stabs into my arm. Something heavy lands on my leg. I grip the seatbelt straps so hard the friction burns. My teeth press together so tightly my gums ache as my jaw stays locked.

In all the chaos and the hurt, I pour my desperately pounding heart and my frightened mind into one last quiet prayer.

Mom... Dad... Anyone... If anyone is out there, please help me...

The next moment, something slams against the side of my head, the force snapping my eyes open, though I cannot see anything through the red blur. The last thing I hear is a faint voice echoing from somewhere distant before everything goes still and silent.

I WAKE UP TO THE WHISPER of snow touching the ground, to the crackle of a fire, to the sound of breathing my own. The smell of fresh coffee, burned wood, and natural pine drift into my nose. I am alive.

I force my eyes open. My lids feel as heavy as the boulders I see sticking up through the snow outside the window. I turn my head. I am staring up at an unfinished pine ceiling painted orange by the glow from the fireplace.

Where am I?

As I sit up, the green blanket on top of me slips off, showing multiple bandages under torn clothes. I am hurt? I