By Ali Hassanzadeh
Horses hoofing. The splash of water.
It's all a process.
A child fell with you. Wounded knee. He's crying for what seems like an hour. Bandaged his knee with a ripped shirt. No actual bandage nearby.
You fell out of an airplane. It crashed.
It's all a process.
Water nearby.
Drinkable or not, you don't know.
It doesn't matter.
Throat demands water.
You drank from the passing river.
You splashed water on your face and arms.
Like a miraculous lantern, it helps you see in the night.
Horses.
You hear a big animal moving nearby.
Maybe a horse.
Maybe a bear.
Your head hurts.
It's all a process.
Woke up.
What time is it?
It doesn't matter. You don't know either way.
Passed out from exhaustion.
Child is sleeping soundly.
Sun's out, so you can see clearly.
Blood. Too much blood everywhere
Head starts hurting again. Everything's spinning.
Loud screeching noises. The child and the horse seem to be screaming.
Explosion.
Everything goes silent.
And darkness.
. . .
Akena is the main character in our story. She is a journalist. She just flew in from Afghanistan, where she was deployed, back to Frankfurt, where she would take the destructive flight 866. Flight 866 was scheduled for Seattle, where she would resume her career as a journalist. Emphasis on "was". She made it back home 3 months after the flight took off. Flight 866, piloted by the infamous Kirona Watanabi, crashed in the woods of Lolo National Forest, Montana.
. . .
Blazingly bright. Those were the two first words Akena thought of when she saw the sun outside of Frankfurt's airport.
It had been a long time since she'd heard someone talking to her in english. Muhammad, her boss back in Afghanistan, had broken english and a heavy Afghani accent which meant that she would have to guess what he was saying half the time. None of her other colleagues spoke a word of english. When the flight attendant asked her if she wanted water or orange juice, Akena was ready to talk back in pashto because of how long she'd been exposed to the language.
She couldn't wait to see Brandon. She'd waited so long.
Akena was deployed to Afghanistan in the year 2023. Her mission, which was to report back from the state of the ongoing war in Afghanistan between the Saudi Arabia and the local Afghani troops, had taken 2 and a half years to complete. She'd gone so long without seeing his face.
He was supposed to come to Frankfurt to catch her flight with her. She couldn't find him anywhere, however.
It was so relaxing at the airport. So chilled out. Yet she could feel her hands trembling. She tried picking up her phone to connect to the airport wifi to text him. She couldn't even hold her phone properly because her hands were so shaky.
She was…
Scared.
. . .
Brandon had been awaiting her arrival from the airport. He was waiting at the airport hotel, where he'd arrived three days ago. He was sick and tired of waiting.
When would she get there? It'd been so long since she showed him her usual affection. He craved it.
Brandon kept waiting, however. Waiting for a text. A call. A door bell ringing.
"Waiting is a process you must undergo in order to train your mind into becoming stronger, and more enduring."
That was the quote Brandon's yoga teacher had taught him. He always knew he had the hots for him, but not until a week after Akena left was he certain about it. His yoga teacher opened up about his unconditional love for Brandon and all the other romantic stuff people say. Brandon had refused with the most apologetic response possible. Poor Matt.
He kept waiting though. It was all he could do to keep his mind sane.
Suddenly, you hear crying.
. . .
It's the kid. He's sobbing so loudly.
Shut. Up.
You can't help it. Your head hurts. You just want to go back to the silence. You try hurling something at him to make him stop. You can't move your arm.
Your eyes can now focus.
The kid is so close. Literally right in your face.
He's crying.
But why?
You try calming him down. Your words come out in an unrecognizable mumble.
Your eyes wander to your right arm, which you couldn't move seconds earlier.
Oh. My. God.
Giant piece of metal, stuck in your upper arm. Looks like something from the airplane wing. It even has the Lufthansa logo on it. Definitely from the airplane.
You start tearing up.
What in the world is going on?
Where is he?
Did he leave me…
You try your best to calm down. You tell the kid to stop crying. Talking hurts.
Breathing hurts. Thinking hurts. Stop talking to me in my own head!
He left you.
He left you and this is what you get in return.
Right?
But no…
You didn't do anything to deserve this.
Then what's going on?