[ WP ] The person sitting next to you on a plane leans over and says , `` Do n't ask me how I know this , but this plane is going to crash before it reaches Newark . ''

`` Do n't make jokes like that. It's not funny,'' I reply sternly, though I start to feel nervous inside. 
 
 `` I'm not joking,'' he answers with a smile. *A fucking smile. * 
 
 `` Why? What are you, some kind of terrorist?'' 
 
 I can tell the stranger is agitated. His hands begin to shake slightly. `` I'' M not a terrorist,'' he whispers fiercely. `` Your government is the terrorist - murdering innocent civilians, drones, mass druggings and experimentations, wars, spying and backroom deals.'' 
 
 I can feel the sweat pooling across my chest and under my arms. I feel hot. And sick. 
 
 `` What's going to happen?'' I ask. I immediately follow it up with, `` And why are you telling me?'' 
 
 `` It's a dirty business. A dirty, dirty business.'' He says nothing more and stares straight ahead. 
 
 A passenger walks down the aisle and I almost jump out of my seat. A few scenarios run rapidly through my head. Could I pretend to go to the bathroom and warn someone? Should I outright attack the guy? Should I just stand up and start screaming? 
 
 `` There are innocent people on this plane,'' I plead. My voice cracks and tears well in my eyes when I'm desperately trying to sound in control. *I'm worthless. * 
 
 `` It's too late,'' the man responds. `` Once the mechanics are set in motion, there's nothing you can do to stop it. The seaweed tangles the blades and it cuts the head right off!'' 
 
 I ca n't tell if he's speaking in code or if my brain is too freaked out to understand. For the first time I look frantically around the cabin. Nothing seems out of place or unusual. The young man in the window seat still has his headphones on and is playing on his laptop. Now *my* hands are shaking. The other passengers are reading or having quiet conversations. 
 
 The stranger continues. `` That's why I hate Georgia. You ca n't go anywhere without someone getting in the way. Everything's tangled. And the President? He knows. He knows everything. It's why they track me. And you! It's all over.'' 
 
 My sympathetics are in overdrive. I feel like I'm going to vomit, but my muscles are absolutely paralyzed. I wait for him to say something more, but another minute goes by in silence. I ca n't breathe. He turns and sees me staring at him with wide eyes. 
 
 `` Do you know Harold Fisher?'' 
 
 *The fuck the fuck the fuck. * I do n't know what to say. Is this code? Is he confusing me for someone else? 
 
 The young man in the window seat picks his head up and turns to the stranger and me. He pulls the headphones off his head. 
 
 `` Is he bothering you, miss?'' The young man asked. `` Grandpa, stop bothering her.'' 
 
 `` Sorry,'' the young man begins while looking at me. `` He has dementia. He does n't make sense sometimes. He also does n't know when to stay quiet.''
