I remember the sounds of sirens. People were shouting, calling out the number of bodies they had found. My body was the only one still warm. As I was lifted up onto the stretcher, I could see mangled corpses in the glare of the floodlights. There was a body in the wreckage wearing a black suit, my seatmate. A newlywed couple lay side by side. There was a small body near to where I had been found. The orange dress jogged my memory. It was the little girl who was taking her first plane ride on her own. She was supposed to meet her parents at the airport. What would they say when there little girl didn't arrive?

My first night in the hospital, I cried my self to sleep. How could I have made it and yet all those other people had not? Friends and family came bearing gifts and relief at my survival. I had to force a smile. I refused to speak about my experience to the newspaper, but they managed to tell everyone what 'I said,' nevertheless. I wonder if I could sue them and give the money to the families of the victims.

I felt a sense of emptiness. I had been so relaxed on the plane, watching a movie. The plane had started shaking. Turbulence, I had thought. How wrong I was. I have yet to be told what caused the plane to crash. This, more than anything else, was the most frustrating part of all. I had no idea what killed the people I shared my flight with. No idea at all.