A routine jump becomes a free-fall into the unthinkable when Myra reaches for the one thing meant to save her—and finds nothing but empty air.
The wind tore the scream straight out of Myra’s throat before she even knew she was falling.
Myra was pushed out the airplane door before she could steady her breath. She spun violently, the earth flipping from distant blur to impossible clarity. Instinct took over—she yanked her parachute cord. It didn’t move. Her heartbeat hammered louder than the wind roaring past her ears. She pulled again, harder, and this time the cord ripped free from the harness, snapping upward like a useless ribbon. Panic swarmed her chest. Her backup cord—where was it? Her hands clawed along the straps, searching, fumbling, finding nothing but smooth nylon. She tried to inhale, but her breath broke apart mid-air. Was she dreaming, or had she dropped straight into a nightmare with no waking up? The ground was rising too fast. She forced herself to think—there had to be something she was missing. The sky felt colder now, sharper, as if the air itself had turned against her. Myra reached again, refusing to surrender to the drop. Somewhere on her harness, salvation—or silence—was waiting.
💬 Reader Question
If you were Myra, what single thought would flash through your mind in that split second between hope and free fall?
