Black Bird

People were screaming, everyone on board flight AA231 was panicking. It was approaching midnight. The flight attendants tried to reassure the passengers that everything would be okay. However, I could sense the subtle change of pitch in one of their tones. That reassurance was merely an attempt to mask the ugly truth, that we are all going to perish. All that can be heard are men crying like babies. Babies, being denied the attention of their unresponsive mothers. As I sat there, buckled into my seat, the terror began to clench my heart. My hands drenched in sweat were clamped onto the armrests, clueless as to what to do. Never had I witnessed mankind in such a state.

Men have always imposed a masculine image to portray dominance. However, in the face of death, it seemed as though that the very persona of man that was spent a lifetime cultivating and nurturing had been stripped away within seconds. Everyone was naked and exposed to the harsh and inevitable reality that awaited them. I was no exception besides my ability to internalize the terror that encompassed me. My introverted nature led me to try channeling out all the noise which only amplified the panic. Some of the overhead compartments flew open due to the violent turbulence. Personal belongings were scattered over the floor. The few people standing were either thrown back in their seats or tossed onto the aisles. A man screamed, "we're all going to die!!" as if that wasn't evident. A few strangers tried to confide in each other. In the center row to my right, I witnessed parents holding their two children in a desperate attempt to reassure them that everything would be okay, knowing very well that that was far from the truth. Regardless of what was said or done, all hope was lost. There was no sign of even an iota of positivity. Every face I looked at was struck with grief. I realized that there was no hero to save us. Rather than succumb to the overwhelming fear, I refused to accept that I was going towards my end. I was desperate to cling to life.

While seated by the window, I overheard hushed voices coming from behind me. It sounded like an elderly man reading scriptures from a Bible. I prayed in Bone chilling cold.

I had swam miles in the pacific, but those were in more controlled conditions. It was just off the coast of Tampa bay where I swam my first mile and there were instructors on boats readily available incase of medical emergencies. Still, at the time the task didn't seem feasible. Was I equipped to survive being plunged into the depths of the Atlantic far from civilization? I had to brush off the negativity. This is my only shot at survival. The number one rule is to stay calm and free myself of any self-destructive thoughts. Thoughts that hinder one's ability and cloud one's judgment. I had to remember the lessons learned throughout my training. I was taught to be what the instructors called, "drown-proof". In other words, being thrown into a pool with my hands and feet tied while being expected to perform a vast array of tasks. What I was up against now, however, was on a much larger scale. They say water makes cowards of us all but the one thought that lingered in my head was how I managed to find myself in such a highly improbable predicament given my extensive experience with water. It must have been my lucky draw. Maybe it was fate ushering me into fulfilling this impossible feat. I should've just stayed at home and played the lottery. I promised myself I would if I made it out of the plane alive.

As the panic intensified, I took a deep breath and unbuckled my seat belt. I made my way down the aisle and towards the rear exit, stumbling after a few steps. The nose of the plane was tipped downward and my path was a steep incline as though I were walking up a hill. I looked out the window and noticed just how fast we were approaching the water. I calculated that we would make an impact in about thirty seconds. The lower we descended in altitude, the higher my heart rate climbed. As doubts began to creep into my mind, I heard wheels spinning. I looked up and a large trolley was flying down the aisle towards my direction. I leaped between two rows of seats, it missed me by a fraction of an inch. That cost me precious seconds. The screams were so loud that it became deafening to listen to at this point. From the intercom, the pilot was shouting “Mayday! Mayday! Brace for impact!!” just as I reached the exit. I threw my hands onto the emergency hatch and tried to pull it open but it wouldn’t budge. In a final attempt, I exerted what was left of me into pulling the handle. Every fiber of my being was dependent on getting this thing open. All of a sudden, the handle slid back, and the door flew open just before the plane made contact with the water. I was ejected with tremendous force and managed to take one last breath before being plunged into the abyss.

I opened my eyes, I couldn’t see a thing. I was surrounded in pitch-black darkness, in the belly of the beast. I could still faintly hear the distant screams that became muffled from the water. I kicked as hard as I could and stroked upward aimlessly towards the surface. I was helpless, void of any indicators of the level of depth I had reached. The bone-chilling cold numbed my limbs. My lungs were strained and the urge to breathe due to hypercapnia became overwhelming. My life was slowly beginning to fade with each stroke. I was left in utter despair, trapped in a sea of bitter loneliness. Exhaustion filled my senses, urging me to surrender myself to the immense weight of the water that was bearing down on my body. All hope was lost, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Before I closed my eyes, I felt a gentle nudge and passed out.

I had a sensation of being swept up into the clouds. My body had taken flight and was suspended in mid-air before being thrust down into the earth. I was shocked into consciousness and found myself washed up ashore. I struggled to get on my feet and grasp a sense of what had just transpired. I heard the sound of clicks and whistles behind me. I turned around and saw a dolphin in the distance. The realization had just set in that I had been saved. I was relieved to be able to breathe again. It took a moment to sink in. Looking out into the horizon, there was no sign of civilization. I was stranded on an island.

I spent the next few days living off of what I could find, hoping a search party would be on route to look for survivors. Every day, I built a fire as a beacon that served as a signal. Every night I made a habit of sitting along the shore staring into the vastness of the ocean. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the tragic event. I would recall all the innocent faces aboard that plane. All the men, women, and defenseless children whose existence had been wiped off in a blink of an eye. Yet here I lay alive, the only survivor. With no one to talk to but myself, I started to question whether it was fair. I mean, I made no effort to save anyone else because I was desperately trying to save myself. Despite being alive on the outside, I was empty on the inside.

One sunny morning, I awoke to the sound of a helicopter in the distance. They had spotted the smoke from the firepit. The ordeal was done.

It had been months since the crash, life had slowly returned back to normal. Being the only survivor, I was bombarded by the media and countless interviews which I had rejected. The story had been aired for months. Meanwhile, I was still trying to cope with emotions. Whenever I was confronted by them, I would cast them aside. One day as I was filling up gas, my eyes were drawn to the lottery stand. All of a sudden, I recalled the oath I had made to myself on board the plane. I had no desire to play, but figured I should keep my word. I proceeded to the cashier and asked for a ticket. The lady asked what numbers I wanted. Thinking for a moment, I glanced at my watch, it was 2:31PM. Those numbers struck a chord. I said, “2, 3, 1”. The lady gave a blunt stare. She replied, “You need 3 more, honey”. Thinking back to the night of the flight, it was August 13th approaching midnight. I gave the numbers, “8, 13, 12”. Turns out a week later, I had won 337 million dollars. For some reason the winnings didn’t phase me. It could never erase the trauma.

No amount of wealth can compensate for the loss of life. A mind plagued with grief renders the body useless. A shattered glass can never regain its original form. My mind tends to gravitate elsewhere. Sleep has become scarce to the extent that its equivalence is that of buried treasure. A precious rarity like a pearl deep beneath the surface of the ocean. How taken for granted such a priceless thing has become. Whenever my room becomes dark after I turn off the light, I ponder over dark moments, as dark as that tragic night. Now I'll close this book after the black ink dries on these pages, revealing the black cover, as black as the ocean and all of its hidden faces.