You bolt awake … but you're not immediately sure what awakened you. You blearily fumble for your cell phone to check the time, but as you reach for the bedside table, you gasp—your hand passes through the oak nightstand as if it were composed of nothing but mist.

After a moment you remember the night before. Blinking lights, roaring thunder. “Hold on tight!” Someone yelled from the front of the plane. “We are going down!” You grip tightly to the seat belt that has been holding you.
A  guy started fumbling around, trying to unbuckle people’s seat belts. “Sir! Sir! Stop!” Came from the front of the plane. When he got to you, you pushed him away and unbuckled the seatbelt yourself. The doors opened just before you  plunged into the cold ocean water.

People screamed around you, the people with no seatbelts lunged toward the open doors, while people with seatbelts tried unbuckling them, about to give up with the water hit their freezing necks. You decide to try and get out of the doors, crowded by others trying to escape this deadly plane ride. 

Finally, you stop, realizing the people in the plane, trapped, helpless, and with no chance of survival. You jump back and start trying to help others. That’s all you remember, the cold freezing water, children who were going to die, getting a chance to survive, because of you. You lost your life, for others. And you’d do it again.