His hands were cold.
Cold and shaking as if every muscle in his body forced themselves upon his small and fragile fingers causing them to convulse under the weight of a power they had never experienced.
All he wanted to do was reach into his pocket and grab hold of his phone but such a task proved impossible.
He lifted out of his seat, not by choice, rather by the determination of gravity who would see to it that he met face first with the metal floor board beneath his feet.
His hands were still in his pockets and his goal was still the same.
He ignored the taste of iron and with all the strength he had left, pulled the phone from the depths of that black hole.
He wanted to look around, to share his excitement and see with his eyes what until now he had only heard.
His selfishness overtook the urge to share with his brothers these final moments, but it was this selfishness that made it possible to retrieve his phone for a final call to his wife.
He thanked God for this possibility, for the chance to hear her voice one last time, for the rarity of not dying alone.
Tears of joy, cold and distasteful, streamed down his cheeks as rivers do when they flood. Forming sharp valleys through the layers of dirt smeared across his face.
He turned it on.
He pictured the perfect sound of her voice coming through the imperfect speakers of his phone. The perfect pitch of her tone as they muddled their way through digital compression.
He opened his eyes.
Fingers already pressing perfectly every number from memory. When the combination was finished he pressed the final button, screaming his thanks at the top of his lungs.
His heart sank to his knees as the message "no service" manifested itself on the screen. He cursed himself for his naïveté and immediately his tears stopped.
He heard the screams and cries for help from the hundreds experiencing this moment with him. He looked up from the floor and saw the chaos he had been blocking out during his ordeal.
He saw families clinging to one another, men fighting men for a chance at being heroes and amongst the disarray was a man whose expression seemed out of place.
Who sat in his seat as calmly as he did when he first took it. His eyes were straight and his hands nestled neatly upon his lap.
His suit, just pressed with care earlier that morning, sat flush, void of wrinkles, against his frail body.
His back was stiff and his feet were placed firmly on the ground and pressed tightly together.
He paid no mind to the mans intrusive stares and he had no idea that his expression had filled his entire body with the calmness that he seemed to extrude.
The man closed his eyes. He was back home. Staring through the window pain of the new home he shared with his family. His wife stood at the opposite end and smiled her perfect smile.
He smiled back as the plane dug it's nose into the base of the mountain.
Edit: Formatting and such