**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 7
I pull the earbuds from my ears as I stare out the window beside my seat, into the glowing light of the sunset.
Whoa.
I'm shell-shocked from what just happened.
My heart races as I sink into the steady calm of the unassuming plane. I can still feel the sensation of Evelyn tucked against me. My arms wrapped around her, her body against mine, and the residual pressure of our combined weight pressed against the cockpit door. How we clung to each other as the plane fell in a thundering, shaking mass. Down, down, down.
And I can still hear her gut-wrenching screams, echoing in the recesses of my brain. Shaking in my arms, she yelled and cried, as all the fear she'd been holding deep inside came pouring out. I wanted so badly to take all that pain and anguish away. To make everything okay.
But I couldn't.
And I'm still haunted by the blood, by Heather's broken body, by the cold chill of death that hung in the air. By the man standing in the doorframe of the tiny airplane bathroom with a blade in his hand, as he lunged towards Evelyn.
But there's something else. Something more terrifying than all of that combined.
And as the pilot begins his message again, for what's now the seventh time, I sit with that thought, heavy in my mind.
From the very start, I always had a bad feeling about that bathroom. I made no secret of that. Nothing – and I mean, nothing – good could ever come from a mystery bathroom.
And boy was I was right about that.
After Heather closed the overhead bin and Evelyn left to investigate the content of that black duffel bag, I watched Heather walk to the front of the plane. Following her, I ducked into the first row and sat in an empty aisle seat, with a clear view of both Heather and the mystery bathroom.
I watched Heather pick up the intercom cradled against the wall. I leaned forward, straining to hear what she'd say as the white noise howled in my ears like it was pitted against me, trying to cancel out every sound.
She held the intercom close, just above her chin. Her words were quick and low, rushing into the receiver coiled to the wall.
But I managed to hear every word.
"Code 7700, Code 7700!" Heather breathed into the intercom. "Contraband found in row 22."
I jolted in shock. Illegal drugs. So that's what Heather found in that duffel.
