Saturday, November 1, 2008

{EPILOGUE RANDOM OCCURANCE}

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Awake. The hum of the engines on flight 603 startle you just enough to come to. The crackling of your eyelids as you open them feel like you could have been sleeping for days, or years even. Everyone in the cabin is asleep. Outside the window of your window seat is complete blackness. If there were a light on below you, you would be able to see it. The only light on tonight is the moon. It's half quarter phase reminds you of the winking of an eye. Only an eye sees everything and is able to register these transactions into the mind where all the senses push and pull together. Close your eyes. Try and relax so that you may fall asleep. So that maybe you will remember why you got on the plane in the first place. You remember that it was important that you got on this particular flight, but for what? They call this short-term memory loss.

Awake. This time, there is no hum. There is rushing water on all sides. Those people in the cabin that were sleeping are all awake now and they are screaming. Fully functional people all trying to live. Just one more day more. Everyone hates when they are not in control of their own lives. In a perfect world, none of this would have happened. I just look out my window at the rising tide and the deep dark ocean coming in. Coming to be. I realize I am not in control of my life. I am not god. I am not the all powerful being that is in charge of the card catalog of life. The only thing to really do now is to put my head in between my legs and let it all happen.

When you descend into the ocean at 450 miles per hour. 60 ft. per second. You don't have time to be a hero. You don't have time to really accept your life is over. To know, you can never go back and fix all the mistakes. Patch together all the things you wished you had done. The should've, could've, would've. This is the time and it is now. There is no future. There is no past. There is just the present at the moment. All the screaming, the stewardesses, the rushing water up to our necks. The descending plane. It all exists for now. The ocean floor. The unknown. We all die alone. No one dies for us. Debt remains debt. Photographs, photographs. Songs, songs. Books, books, and so on and so fourth. To sleep.

We have now descended to our unoriginal location of arrival. Our skeleton crew just sits latched into their seats. Frozen in space. Frozen in time. The expressions on their faces are just the same as we approached the force of impact. Everyone is still screaming, only there are no sounds coming out. Everyone is still scared, only no one moves a muscle. Everyone is still embraced with each other because they need something to hold onto. 

Something to secure them, that this is not the end. This is just pretend. This is not the way the story goes. This is just a temporary thing. The skeleton crew is still preparing for the disaster and will be as far as forever's time will go. When you are 23 miles below the ocean and in the middle of nowhere who is going to come rescue you? As far as I am concerned my life ended when I was born. I awoke the second I died. The ocean floor goes on forever. 

Whether you look right, left, up, down, forward, backward. I look out the window and it is still pitch black. I don't even see the moons reflection. 

Just nothingness. I am not alone.