Seven Days That Wrecked My World


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But I felt so claustrophobic, I shuddered as we boarded the cramped Vietnam Airlines plane. By the time we get there, we would have to leave again. I sat down nervously. Fifty excruciating minutes later, we experienced a tremendous drop, and Pasje looked at me with fear. But he was right to worry.

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We dropped again. Someone screamed. It went pitch-black. Seconds later, we made impact. I may have been the only one not wearing a seat belt. At some point I must have landed and slipped under a seat, legs first, and gotten stuck.

Seven Days That Wrecked My World

This kept me in place for the second, bigger impact, which caused the plane to break up. I awoke after four, maybe five hours. I saw Pasje across the aisle.


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He was lying in his seat, which had somehow flipped backward, and had a smile on his lips. A sweet little smile. But he was dead, his ribs crushed into his lungs by his seat belt. Soon, I was sitting outside of the cabin, on a mountain slope, under the trees in dense undergrowth. My wraparound skirt had been torn off and I could see four inches of bluish bone sticking out through layers of flesh on my shin.

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As the days went on, gangrene set into my toes. There was a weird, unreal reality. Everything was green. The more I listened to the jungle sounds, the louder they became.


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Beside me was a Vietnamese man, alive but badly hurt. To protect my modesty, he somehow managed to open his little square suitcase and give me a pair of trousers, which were part of a suit. I felt comforted by his words and his presence but, after a short conversation, we both retreated into our injuries. A few hours later, I saw the man was becoming weaker. Before long, he had difficulty breathing. The life went out of him. He was gone. There were no longer any sounds from the plane. I was completely alone. After that, I tried to move.

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Shifting even an inch was agony. But I tried not to dwell on my suffering and focused on what I could achieve, rather than what I could not. Over the following days, even though I was grieving for Pasje, I concentrated on my survival. What alternative did I have? I painfully pulled myself around a small section of the wreckage, dragging my body by my elbows.

My main goal was drinking water to stay hydrated, something I did by collecting rainwater in small sponges. I fashioned the sponges from insulation I found near the shattered wing of the plane. Standing up to retrieve the insulation was torture, and putting one foot in front of the other impossible. I wrung the moisture from the sponges into my mouth. I knew that if I started, I would give up. Every time I thought of Pasje, I forced myself to stop. Instead I stayed in the now. I listened to my heart and instinct, and not to my mind, because the mind makes up stories that can frighten you.

Another saving grace was the sheer beauty of the mountain. I would look at the varying shades of green on the leaves. How the sun would reflect in a raindrop. Meditating on nature became my distraction.

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My profession as a bond trader helped too. I divided everything into reasonable steps. Numberwise, I was instinctive. I gave myself a week to stay in this one spot. If nobody rescued me by Sunday, then I would need to go into the jungle in search of food. But, in reality, I was physically incapable of doing that.

All I could do was shuffle on my elbows, dragging my useless hips. Gradually, I retreated into the tranquility of the place. The jungle became more beautiful by the day. It was the perfect setting for my near-death experience on the seventh day, when I thought about my happy childhood and felt the love of my friends and family encircle me.

I brought up treasured memories about my mother, father and siblings, who had always been so supportive of me in my life and career. But then, suddenly, I heard the sound of cracking wood. On the other side of the ravine was a man in an orange hood. I wondered whether he was real or a phantom. Some version of St. I waved frantically. Can you help me? Then he was gone. The orange man, a local policeman, turned out to be my savior.

The authorities were looking for me. The following day I was rescued by a team of Vietnamese workers. They showed me a passenger list from the flight and I pointed out my name. They had body bags with them, thinking that nobody could possibly have lived. They moved me onto a canvas and carried my broken body down the mountain. At first I was terrified to be leaving my ridge, the spot that had kept me safe in the aftermath of the accident.

My first true love. Reuse this content. Jun 09, K. Rochell rated it it was amazing. Wreck My World hooks you and doesn't release you until the end of the story. Wreck my world will cast a spell on you! An emotionally gripping story of forgiveness, loss, friendships and love that you will feel deep down to your bones. Victoria has outdone herself.

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You will fall head over heels for Easton and Dakota. They will own a piece of my heart and soul forever! Jun 27, Dora Koutsoukou rated it liked it. All this back and forth between the main characters and not being able to clear the air, made me upset and frustrated.

Seven Days That Wrecked My World Seven Days That Wrecked My World
Seven Days That Wrecked My World Seven Days That Wrecked My World
Seven Days That Wrecked My World Seven Days That Wrecked My World
Seven Days That Wrecked My World Seven Days That Wrecked My World
Seven Days That Wrecked My World Seven Days That Wrecked My World

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