**WATTYS 2022 WINNER** Seventeen-year-old Evelyn Werth is on an endless flight from hell. She's the only person onboard Aloha Airways Flight 1333 who's caught in a 28-minute time loop.
During each cycle, four things happen:
1. The Internet goes out...
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Loop 348
I close my eyes and try to sleep for the millionth time, but I can't. I wonder if I'll ever sleep again.
"Would you like a candy, dear?" Margaret asks, from the window seat. She leans over, holding out a plastic bag with assorted hard candies and a few pieces of saltwater taffy. I consider telling her I've eaten all her candy dozens of times, but I don't.
I have less than nine minutes left before Janelle collapses and the plane plummets. Again.
Of all the places to get stuck in a time loop, it had to be this hellhole. On a never-ending plane crash? Like why couldn't I have been trapped somewhere good? Like Disneyland? Or summer camp? Or literally anywhere else.
The red bag at my feet slumps to the side. The remains of my father, inside it, also shifts like sand in an hourglass.
His remains. As in, the only remaining part of him.
And then something inside me snaps.
Before I know what I'm doing, I unzip my backpack and grab the sealed bag from inside. It's under my arm like a football, and I'm on my feet. I peer at the front of the plane but as expected, the light outside the bathroom door reads occupied. So, I pivot and run to the back of the plane, my thigh slamming against a couple armrests and knees. I pass Janelle Fiori asleep in the last row, as I approach the rear of the cabin. Lydia is chatting with Cheyanne in narrow back pantry and when she sees me, she gives me a friendly wink. But this loop I ignore her, and face the bathrooms. The one to the left is locked, but the other is open. I pull down the latch, and the door folds open. I rush inside and slam it closed behind me.
I collapse to my knees in the tiny room, directly in front of the toilet, which is essentially nothing but a black hole. I imagine that it shoots straight out into the night sky, even though I'm pretty sure airplane bathrooms don't work that way.
As the plane lightly shakes, I pull the plastic bag apart, tearing the seal at the very top. I glance down and the grey ashes stare back at me. It's like peering into an amorphous cloud that can look like everything and nothing at once, and for a moment I swear I can see the contours of my father's face. His strong chin that tapers to a point and his long curving nose. His signature disappointed frown.
But then I blink and it's gone. There's nothing but a pile of ashes.
"This is all your fault!" I yell at the bag, as tears stream down my face. I slump off my knees, my hip hitting the laminate bathroom floor. "All of this is your fault!"
I stare at the ashes, desperate to have them gone. To no longer have them on this wretched plane with me anymore.
My hands tremble as I tip the bag over the toilet, messily pouring the ashes down the black hole. Salty tears tumble over my cracked lips, into my mouth, as I dump all of it – everything that's left of him – down the toilet. I shake the bag, trying to get each last stray spec until there's nothing left. Until there are no remains.
