In progress.

A romantic thriller. A former playgirl who must escape a storm-ridden island after being shipwrecked with various ex-lovers … and the only man she ever loved.

Excerpt:

There were screams as they started going down, as soon as the acrid smell exploded into the airline cabin; quite possibly one voice was even hers. Pixy didn’t know why she had a false sense of security in airplanes, certainly everything else was honest with her about their intention to drop & fall with the heaviest impact they could sustain … But planes never were.

At first, she wasn’t concerned with the buffeting from the storm winds – “just another Manic Monday/ Wish it was Sunday” – they were in the air and an hour from Madagascar … What could they possibly hit?

She was past entertaining herself with fantasies but Pixy likened the buffeting winds to the close thrill to swings on The WaveRunner at the end-of-summer fair, each rise and veer almost anticipated as the plane navigated through the swirling waves of air. An air ark, she thought. No fear here. “Cause that’s my fun day / I don’t have to run day” She had other, disturbing, immediate concerns on her mind – two: a garish colored baseball hat near the front of the cabin and secondly the growing pile waiting on her desk … “Have to catch an early train / Got to be to work by nine / And if I had an aeroplane / I still couldn’t make it on time”

But now she was dropped into a swirl of chaos.

The gut-wrenching plummet, g-forces pulling down to what would be a hard stop. Loud high pitched tearing as angry winds tore apart the metal that once formed a plane. The angry wet winds were making everything a confusion, perhaps they were caught in the middle of a hurricane. Gusts strong enough to bend metal were tossing the cabin and its occupants like dice in a Yahtzee cup. It was tough going, keeping an eye on the baseball cap; it was like looking for a black hole through a lunatic kaleidoscope. She pulled up her small purse and held it tight to her belly.

With a groan, it sounded as if the wind finally succeed in tearing off the top of the coach class and near the middle the cabin bent in two – a sickening sound. Pixy felt her heart stop, her brain refusing to acknowledge fact. She wouldn’t, couldn’t think of what was now not seen.  Passengers, belted into the seats screamed and clung to the seatmates.  Aisles started to be torn off like shredded cardboard.

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