It wasn’t my fault. I swear to God, it wasn’t.
I was on my way to New York. Everything was going along fine, just like it had a hundred times before. It was a clear day–good flying weather. Suddenly whoever was at the controls wasn’t there anymore. A stranger had taken over. I became dizzy and lost direction.
And then my passengers were screaming and I was falling. Soaked in jet fuel, parts of me were aflame. Buildings with people in them were in front of my nose. I could see the horrified bewilderment on their faces, as my face helplessly exploded into theirs on September eleventh.