His injuries weren't life threatening. All he had were a broken arm, a few scrapes, and some broken ribs. His name was Thomas and he was from Montreal... Quebec. I came into his room as a doctor to show him the x-rays and keep him company. He had brown hair with one or two blonde highlights. Luckily, he didn't have head injuries because he wore his helmet while riding his motorcycle.Thomas would look at me with his sparkling blue eyes and at smile while I kept him company. He would give me. The fuselage found an opening but the wings sheared off as the plane plowed into the woods.The pilot was unlucky. A low branch punctured the windscreen and his neck. He was dead before the sliding stopped. Muir hadn't fastened his harness properly and the sudden stop threw him against the interior hard enough to scramble his gray matter. Silvie Klein was luckier, though she did take a blow to the head. The awful cacophony of the crash faded from her ears leaving only the ticking of heated metal. More

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