It is fair. It is just. I deserve this; that's what I think.
Never good enough, never quite got there. Frittered away my opportunities, turned my back on my dreams and told myself it was what I wanted.
Not a pilot; oh no, not me. Navigator's the best I could get. Second to everyone. Number two - and we all know what that means.
What's weird to me is all the shiny, good people are scared. Don't they know they're too pretty to die? With their great hair and white teeth and ironed shirts. My shirt is crumpled and there's a coffee stain on my airline tie.
I think about how I picked my shirt up off the floor this morning. I wish I'd ironed it. Wish I'd washed it even. My head hurts and my stomach is rebelling and I just stink.
Least I won't have to worry I caught something from that guy.
I can hear people shouting and stumbling around and one of the cabin crew sticks her head around the door and says some of the masks are stuck.
There's only me because they're holding the plane steady for the descent, readying to flip the switches for the inflatables. Inflatables - like this is some kids party. I always liked that training exercise.
Next thing I'm straddling this guy who sits in his seat staring up at me in panic while I reach into the cavity above us for his mask and the release for the masks of all the others in his row. And I think; what the hell, you know? We're going to die. Maybe, probably definitely.
So I kiss him, because the way he's looking at me is like someone might look at an angel.
The tall guy who strides by as I straighten up notices my uniform and stops.