747

…Repeating, we are on a live coverage of the terrible… woeful catastrophe of Dunham Air flight 589, in the outskirts of the city of Boise, Idaho. For the time being, authorities have restricted our access to the zone, as you can see behind me. They’re, uhm, taping off a section of the forest. We can only see some smoke columns still balancing beyond those trees over there… But they have however provided us with some data, which albeit unofficial, is a first parameter to measure… to get a grip on this… I’m sorry, on this incomprehensible event. We can only speculate at this point, but from what we can gather from the airport and from the police here, this could very well be the third most deadly airplane related incident in history. There were 486 people on that plane, apparently, and the only good notes we have received from the scene all day long is the discovery and subsequent rescue of 2 survivors. The rescue teams are still at work, behind those trees, but for now it’s only 2. They have both been taken to Saint Alphonsus Regional Medical Center where they are both reported in serious yet stable condition. These are, as you know, 31 year-old Andrea Valmont, and 9 year-old Brandon Donahue. I repeat, we cannot confirm a death toll yet, we have just preliminaries. Same goes for the cause, it’s way too early to determine what made the hydraulics go awry. What we can confirm, however, is that this is undoubtedly one of the darkest hours for American aviation. Dunham Air has not yet released a statement, we are all on hold for…

The storm had poured. But Harlan’s waiting time was not done. Now he had to wait for retribution, whenever it may come. He would stare into the dead, judgmental eyes of the cameras and tell them how he enjoyed watching feathers burn. Then he would smirk at the judge’s uselessly severe resolution, and step into nothingness forever. It’s a curious idea to consider, stepping into nothingness forever. A pitch black solitude that would not even end when the electrodes of the chair were attached to his head or the fatal dose of potassium chloride ran through his veins. Darkness so deep inside a cave so unfathomable that his spirit wouldn’t even recognize what light is, if it were to see it ever again. In more than one sense of the word, it had been a suicide act. Just as deadly and just as merciless as the soul vanishing he perpetrated with 484 people as lambs. For they were people, with beating hearts and light in their eyes, in the end, that’s unforgettable. Of all sizes. Innocent or guilty, joyful or glooming, loved or hated. Human. And the scar life gives you for killing can only be healed in absolute oblivion. With eyes closed and perception shut. Dead inside, even more than out. Even more than the bodies lying scattered across the trees, beneath the smoke, over the dusty remains of bruised metal; for they have at least found redemption, and fly now thoughtlessly with eternal wings, forever displaying their last memories. Whispering unheard secrets of undisclosed love into each other’s ears in a moment of embrace, before being overshadowed by the hecatomb. His hecatomb. His blood spread over the mountainside. His revenge. And even when revenge succeeds, it’s nothing but a stone to carry. His killing. His lost souls.

Forever his flying demons.

You
Are worth dying for
But against rubber, glass & metal
A miracle means nothing at all...