Drama arose in the freezing waves of the Atlantic as hundreds of families were defeated by weak odds. 447 crashed and I felt a crash in my own personal little system. Incalculable fear of this sense of perdition in the middle of the ocean haunts me every time a tiny little turbulence hits the plane in which I am flying, sweating like there is no tomorrow... almost literally. This is what I call unluckiest lack of luck. The odds of flying on a day when a play crashes are already unlikely, as crashes with big planes occur once every something months. Now to actually be on the one plane of all those flying that day (in America alone there are eighty thousand flights daily), that is just plain ridiculous. And of course those odds do not apply to european airlines, supposedly the safest in the world besides Quantas, the australian airline, which are definitely higher. That in conjunction with the fact the plane fell in mid air - which happens in 6 percent of crashes - makes this Air Crash tragedy a supreme punishment delivered by Mrs. Karma. In this article I rather dismiss literary descriptions of what could have been going on those people's minds, for the sake of saving myself from a nauseating inner experience. My feelings for those people.
