"Hi, this is the captain," said the hijacker in a slurred Arabic accent. "I would like you all to remain seated. There is a bomb on board and are going back to the airport, and to have our demands..." the rest of the words were either said in Arabic or too accented to be understood.
Ben took a deep breath and stroked his daughter's hair gently as she huddled into his side, tears silently falling from her young blue eyes. He still heard the other passengers, some panicking, some in shock and some sobbing into phones, all crowded into the back of the plane by the knife-wielding Arabians who had obviously hijacked the plane. He'd heard of the news already - the World Trade Center in New York hit by hijacking terrorists. He hadn't told Gracie - his daughter was only four. He hadn't wanted to put such a grave thing into such an innocent mind. Now, of course, she was part of it anyways.
Ben heard a voice behind him, screaming at the hijacker vainly.
"Yeah-" he cursed - "right, you son of a -" again, he cursed extensively.
Ben turned around as poor Gracie whimpered. "My daughter's four!" he reprimanded automatically, despite the situation.
"He's got a point, though," said another passenger. "I heard the Twin Towers got hit with planes today," he explained, and several uninformed people gasped in shock. "We could be the next attack. I doubt they're just going to turn around to the airport."
There were several murmurs of agreement.
"I think we should try to take the plane again."
"What?" cried Ben, and he wasn't alone. But at the same time, several other voices were raised in approval.
"We haven't got a chance with them flying the plane into a building, anyways!" continued the man.
"We haven't got a chance going up against those knives, either!" argued another passenger.
"Would you rather take out thousands of lives with you then?" cried the man. "What do you think they'll take out? Washington DC? How many American lives do you think they'll take?"
No one answered. The man didn't sit back down.
"Come on! Are we going to cower here in the back of an airplane while these terrorists destroy whatever they want?"
Ben didn't make eye contact with the man - no one did. Gracie sobbed in his lap, joining in with the weeping that was the only thing that filled the silent cabin.
He knew what the right thing was, to be sure: take back the plane. But the image of the snarling, shouting Arabs stuck in his mind, as well as the most important factor: those knives. They'd stabbed a flight attendant, and it had gone into her so easily... those knives were so sharp. He remembered how they'd glinted...
Just like the way their eyes glinted. So sharp, so dangerous, so hard. Eyes like knives. But they were warm, too - warm with smug dominance as they treated fellow humans like pigs, as if they were something better just because of their stupid religious differences. They believed - the actually believed - that they could never be wrong, that anyone who thought differently was a lesser being, an animal to be slaughtered. They actually thought they were better! This was not just massacring - this was spitting in humanity's face.
Ben took a deep breath. He had to say it. He had a decision, and he had to make it. He gently pushed Gracie from his lap. His brain reeled against the silence and the pressure and the memory of the horrid, glinting knives, and his mind screamed to stop, but he'd already stood, and now everyone was turning, watching, listening...
"No." Ben's throat constricted around the word, but he forced it out, his anger just barely pushing away his fear.
"No," he repeated. "We can't just sit here and do nothing. We can't just let those Arabian pigs think they're high and mighty just because they're willing to murder thousands of innocent people they've never even met before." He paused to gasp in some air; he'd spat the sentence out with one shallow breath. "We can't."
Everyone watched in amazement. Then Ben sat back down.
The man stood again. "All in favor of attacking the cockpit, stand."
Ben rose to his feet; he'd made his decision. Everyone else simply watched in amazement. Then, something astounding happened.
Gracie looked up at her father. And then, slowly, she stood.
"I don't want to let the mean people win," she said in her small voice.
And suddenly, a person rose. Then two people, then three, and soon, nearly everyone was standing boldly, with both tears and determination in their eyes.
The man looked to Gracie. He knelt to meet her young eyes, and whispered to her, "You're a hero, child. You know that, don't you?"
Gracie hung her head in youthful shyness, not even seeing the momentousness of her decision. "Thank you, sir," she murmured automatically in her little girl's voice.
There was a long wait as everyone tried to make final calls to their families, aware that these were probably their last moments alive. Ben tried, but his phone wouldn't connect. He felt a deep mourning for his Marissa - his wife would be so hurt when she heard the news. But there was nothing he could do anymore.
Finally, the man who had spoken stood, his phone still to his cheek. He placed one hand on the handle that would open the door and spoke one last time, both to the passengers and to his wife miles away.
"Let's roll."
Spoiler! :
That was beautiful.
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