crash

My friend and I were riding in a helicopter, piloted by another close friend. I was impressed by her bravery as I had not known she possessed a licence to fly. She looked the part, wearing a black outfit and cap, and she was clearly confident in her ability. We flew through the city, dipping dangerously low, tracing the streets between the buildings. We were so close to the ground I could see the hair of the walkers below blowing about in the wind created by the propellors. I noticed, although the helicopter moved almost erratically, I did not experience motion sickness. Suddenly my friend and I were still flying through the air, but the helicopter had crashed behind us. We looked back to see it crumpled on the ground and in flames. People were running and screaming, but we were calm. We realised we must be dead, our physical bodies burning in the wreckage on the road. Although we looked the same to one another, we were ghosts of our Earthly selves. My friend was outraged. 'I don't have time for this,' she exclaimed. 'I've not made any plans for my death and no one will know what to do if I'm gone.'