Memento Mori
The engines on both wings exploded. Paul heard the spritely bong of the cabin intercom kick in, but he couldn't hear the message over the screaming of the passengers. Paul's stomach did somersaults and cartwheels inside him. His heart was doing full sprints. His breath was ragged. His fingers fumbled with the silver seat belt buckle just as the oxygen mask dropped from overhead. Next to him, Mei had already gotten out of her seat and was hunched over a terrified child in the adjacent row, helping him to breathe. Paul glanced out the tiny rounded square window. All he could see was thick black smoke billowing from the wings. Even the clouds were obscured by the smoke.
He reached up for the mask, just in time for the nose of the plane to dive, tossing him and everyone who was out of their seats up and forward into the roof of the cabin. He made sure to protect his chest from landing hard on the seat in front of him. Mei was thrown into a different row; Paul couldn't see her anymore. He could see the flight attendants though — one of them lay unmoving at the foot of the seats three rows ahead, the other was stretched out over the seats in the emergency exit row, his neck bent at a gruesome angle. Paul knew there would be two more attendants in the first-class section, but he wouldn't make it there. He glanced out the window again and realized just how close the blue of the ocean was.
He had never been this close to the ocean before. One of the reasons he was excited about opening this business in Miami was the proximity it would be to the beach. He imagined himself at the beach every day; finishing his shift at the shop and unwinding in the water. He imagined the women, all tanned and bikini-clad. He imagined he and his friend trying to pick them up and striking out together. His breathing had slowed to a more relaxed tempo. There was an unearthly calm that came with the absolute certainty of imminent death. The knowledge that nothing is in your hands anymore; that you can regress to an infantile shirking of personal responsibility, and just let the situation handle itself.
The water had gotten so close.
“The water's gorgeous from this high up, isn't it?” Paul asked the pretty Asian woman seated next to him. He’d had his face pressed against the small window, feeling the heat of the sun on his skin. He had been gazing at the water and trying to see the path over the ocean they had come from, before turning to look at her. The lines in the lady's face, slicing to and fro through her golden skin, told the story: she was a fair bit older than he was. She wore a long-sleeved white turtleneck and white jeans; bold choices when something could spill at any time. His black clothes were in stark contrast to her white ensemble. She cast the barest of glances at the window on Paul's opposite side. She was not as impressed with the view as he was.
“It's fine, I suppose. I fly all the time, it doesn't have the same appeal to me anymore.” A child coughed in the row across from theirs. The woman's eyes darted over, as if on pure instinct, before settling back on the man next to her. The flight attendant's voice crackled into existence over the PA system, saying something about keeping your seatbelts fastened, while also saying passengers were allowed to walk about the cabin. Thank you for flying Champion Airlines Flight 77.
“By the way, that's bad luck, you know.” There was a twinkle in her eye and her voice as she said it.
“Hm? What is?” Paul asked, a look of worry gracing his dark features. His brow furrowed.
“On any journey, looking back the way you came is bad luck. Very bad luck, they say.” Her eyes danced. “If you believe in that sort of thing.” She extended her hand. “I'm Mei.”
He took it. “Paul.” Her hand was dainty, but the handshake was firm. She had rings on four fingers, each gold with onyx skull inlays. A simple silver chain hung around her neck with an onyx pendant of a cat's head. “What's supposed to happen? Have I doomed us all?”
Mei shrugged. “What's in Miami for you? Home? Girlfriend?”
“New business actually.” Paul fished in his pants pocket and retrieved an ornately designed silver pocket watch. The cover had a relief of a crow in flight, a bone clutched in its talons. He clicked it open to reveal the face: an hourglass background with black hands tick-tick-ticking away. “I designed it myself. My boy and I are opening a timepiece shop. Clocks, wristwatches, pocket watches, I even got a line on an antique sundial I want to get for the shop.” He smiled in his pride. “What about you?”
“Doctor's conference. Much less glamorous. I'm forced to go to these things every year. Luckily, the hospital pays for it.” Thanks to the man's black V-neck T-shirt, Mei couldn't help but notice a scar leading from just under his neck over to the left side of his chest. She had actually noticed it immediately but tried to resist asking about it. She failed. “What happened?” She asked, gesturing to the same spot on her own neck. It still took Paul a second to register what she was referring to.
“Oh, this? Car accident. Just a couple of weeks ago, as a matter of fact.” He pulled down on the V in the shirt neck to reveal the full length of the scar. It traveled just above his heart over to where the shoulder connected. “Doctor said I was lucky. My parents prayed and cried the whole night.”
“I'll say. An inch or so lower, and...” Mei didn't finish that sentence. “You probably shouldn't even be flying yet.” She sighed. It was far too late for that conversation anyway. There had been a tattoo right below the scar, directly over his heart. “Your tattoo is safe, at least. What's it say?”
“'You are dust and unto dust you shall return.' I've had it for a while.”
“Kinda morbid, no?”
Paul chuckled. “It could be construed that way, sure. I like to think of it like, we're all made of the same stuff, and we're all going back to the same pile of dust after we die. So live your life, right?”
Mei smiled.
Then the engines on both wings exploded.
***
Released: November 15, 2022
Elliot Richards was born in New York City but currently lives and writes on the island of St. Thomas. Full Bio