Yesterday, Pierre-Cedric Bonin had been relaxing in Rio de Janiero, near Copacabana Beach. It was a nice spot. Pierre’s hotel room had a view of the ocean, and he spent many hours watching the waves crash steadily over the sand. For some reason, Pierre was drawn to the mysterious power of water.
Pierre had left his two young children back in Paris while he and his wife escaped to the paradise of an exotic country. He was glad for the trip, and even more glad to be an Air France pilot. He was paid handsomely even though most of his work involved watching the auto-pilot perform its smooth, mechanical wizardry. His favorite part of his job, though, was to fly to fascinating places like Brazil. Pierre had few complaints.
Unfortunately, Pierre was on his way back to Paris. The flight was supposed to be 11 hours long, and it had started off a little turbulent. On most long international flights like these, Pierre’s mind wandered. Today, he was thinking about the golf course he had played in Rio. He kept replaying in his mind a single shot that had punctuated his day. He had made a smooth, pure strike and nestled his golf ball a few feet from the fifteenth hole. Pierre reflected that the perfection of his shot nicely summed up his trip.
Pierre was awoken from his daydreams by the captain retiring to his cabin. Pierre wasn't sure, but it seemed like the captain was a little more tired than usual — Rio must have been sufficiently exciting for the captain. No one really likes the trip back from paradise.
Pierre moved to increase the plane’s altitude. The turbulence was starting to get a little stronger, so he figured a higher altitude might make the flight more tolerable. Most people probably had headaches anyway. The plane shook a little as it went through a dense mass of clouds. Pierre was a little nervous. A thunderstorm was developing a couple of hundred miles away, and he wanted to miss it. Pierre increased the altitude a bit more.
A cockpit notification sounded. Pierre noticed that the speed indicators on his screen were impossibly low. He shrugged — the speed probes were probably just clogged. They would be back to normal soon enough. Pierre turned on the cockpit lights. Everything outside was black.
A little more doubt crept into Pierre’s mind. Maybe he should move the plane a little higher. Then he’d get out of the turbulence and maybe he’d get his speed indicators back. As Pierre pulled back on his joystick, the plane climbed upwards ever so slightly.
Maybe a little faster, Pierre thought. He pulled back harder. The plane began to shake a little. Then the vibrations slowly grew. Pierre grew worried. He should really try to get higher before this turbulence got worse. Pierre pulled even harder on the joystick. The vibrations worsened and the entire cabin began to shake.
A siren went off. The monotonous hum of an alarm began to ring in Pierre’s ears. A drowsy captain started to awake from his cabin, and began lumbering towards the cockpit. Pierre began to panic. He clasped the joystick with a death-grip and pulled back as hard as he could. Useless — the shaking got worse.
By now, the captain had been jolted into vigilance. “What’s happening” he asked. Pierre was too confused to answer. The captain looked at the altitude indicator and froze.
Pierre screamed, “We’re losing control of the airplane!”
His mind began to process what was happening. He asked the captain: “What are we now? In altitude, what do we have?”
The captain looked back at Pierre in dismay. He sighed, “Fuck, it’s not possible.” Both Pierre and the captain knew the plane was plunging through the sky. They were falling.
The captain yelled, “Let’s go! Pull up, pull up, pull up!”
As Pierre realized how far the plane had dropped, a wholly unfamiliar sensation overtook him. His fingers slowly unwrapped themselves from the plane’s controls. Paralyzed with dread, he felt adrenaline course through his body. His mind went blank. His body was numb. Pierre didn’t have time to realize what it all meant. But he did manage to look over at the captain.
“Fuck, we’re dead.”
Seconds later, Air France Flight 447 struck the Atlantic Ocean and shattered into pieces. Pierre, the captain, and 226 other people died instantly.
