Okay so I’ve had this sitting for a long time cause I’m terrified to post it but
what the fuck. I’ma post it now and not care. So this is a drabble of Anthony’s
crash for his modern verse and how he survived it and yeah. It’s long so have
fun. =]
Brace for impact, they tell you as you take your place inside the fighter
plane, hand wrapping around the strap as tight as you can muster and you
squeeze your eyes closed breifly as you count your Hail Mary’s softly in
your head, trying your damnedest to block out the sound of the engine
failing, the wailing of the propellers as they descend downward to the
Earth’s surface and you pray, God, do you pray, that you make it out alive.
You have to. There’s a girl waiting back home to take your name as her own.
There’s your parents waiting to pull you tightly into a hug, not knowing the
things in which you saw, but willing to give nothing but comfort, love and
support. You’ve got your brothers. Blood related, not the ones with you in
uniform and you pray, God do you pray, that they survive wherever they are
on the field tonight so you can eventually all get beers together and share
a laugh or two as you remember those that fought beside you but lost their
lives too soon. You channel your power as you feel the emotions of the others
around you. Fear is ever present in the plane. Fear of death. Fear of loss.
Fear of fear itself spreads over those surviving members as the earth grows
ever closer, and you send out a wave of power, negating the negative that
surrounds you and washing your comrades in what you hoped was a blissful
feeling, because in the end, if they didn’t survive, they deserved their
final emotion to be calm.
They never taught you to pray, to ask forgiveness with rosemary beads
cradled in your fingers as you counted each of your blessings. They never
taught you how to face the end of your life or what to do, to say, in the
drawing of the final moments of your breath. One look around and you knew
the shared feelings of despair, of peril as you plummet downward to your
death or possible survival. The rate was low, you know. It's replayed over
and over in your head and each outcome grows vastly more dim as the green
tops of trees come further into view. You and your crew mates knew this end
was a possibility when you signed your life on a piece of paper. Some
handled it differently, saying death was something to not be feared,
and even some of those men sat just mere feet from where they clung with
false hopes and an empty prayer. Your family had taught you the grace of
God. They had taken you to church since you were young but you never held
the bible close, perhaps if you had, you wouldn't be facing death like you
are now. Teachings were something that had been recited in your home every
night before bed but nothing outside those walls had heard you speak scripture.
You had been sending up prayers to a God you sometimes wavered in faith.
How could a God be so good, so forgiving and so merciful, if he was willing
to let good men die for the sake of saving a country, a world, a life? Your
faith had always wavered since you were a teenager. Even as a young adult,
nothing's changed.
When the plane connected with the ground, you were too focused on negating
others’ emotions to feel the impact. You were thrust about the small cabin
in which you desperately tried to hang on. Breath fills your lungs just as
quickly as it leaves them and your sight betrays you as your eyes flip open
in a final plea that everything would be okay at the end of this devilish
nightmare. You feel blind, as if all of your senses have abandoned you except
for hearing, as your ears fill with the screams and yells of your friends
and brothers in arms. You’d feel heavy hearted if you had time to react but
you’re too busy trying to keep your mind on your ability, your special gift.
You’d never want someone around you to suffer, especially in their last
moments. As time races past, it comes clear that the chance of survival grows
slimmer by the second, as if a speeding bullet is aimed just for your head but
first you must endure the feelings and the screams of your colleges. You keep
telling yourself that this will end as soon as it had started and you’re sure
that saying your mother once told you about, how if things weren’t okay, then
it wasn’t the end, was probably true in some far off land, but not in the
reality that you’re faced with all too soon.
Step One in survival was to open your eyes again. You’re sure that
somewhere between the crash landing and the thrashing around, you passed
out and now you’re wreaking the havoc that it brought to you. Groans fall
from worn lips and tired hands push your beaten body off the soiled ground.
Lungs draw a deep breath into them and your coughing, sputtering on the
fresh air and there’s a white hot pain that flashes across your body and
you know you’re injured somewhere but you need to make sure you're safe.
That your friends are safe. Gaze glances around and first, all you see is
woods. You're beyond lost, sense of direction thrown off by not knowing
where exactly you were before the crash. You see the smoke and you force
yourself to your feet, groaning in pain all the while. Arm wraps around
your toned body, hugging your torso close and you’re positive you feel
the crimson, sticky feeling of blood as it seeps through your white under
shirt, as it starts upon the fabric of your pilot outfit. Another deep
breath and it’s like an assault upon your lungs but you force your feet
to drag you forward, heading towards the growing smoke. When eyes land
upon the sight, you feel your knees give out and you’ve collapsed to the
hard ground below. You can’t believe what you see and it causes your
stomach to churn, the bile rising in your throat and you're heaving the
morning’s breakfast as tears sting your throbbing eyes. How could the world
be so cruel? How could you have been the only one to survive such a crash?
Step Two in survival is what is known as acceptance. Acceptance is
something you'd have expected to come later, and it does, once all
is said and done, but first, you have this. Denial had always been
first in your mind. The first few days had been the hardest. You sat,
back against a tree, not too far from the burning wreckage of your plane,
the smell of decaying flesh teasing your dried nostrils as your body wanted
nothing more than to remain slack. Every movement caused pain from more
than one wound. You're positive you have a few cracked ribs, maybe even
some broken ones. There's a deep gash in your side and you've salvaged
some seat belts from the parts that hadn't yet caught fire, tying them
around your wounded torso to keep the blood flow at a natural pace, you
didn't need the chance of bleeding out before you're rescued. The second
day brings more pain, not physical, but emotional, and as the days pass,
the pain grows, starting heavy in your torn heart, spreading throughout
your weak body, infecting your tired mind. With every gift, came a curse
and yours was the worst. The screams were heavy in your head, deafening to
your ears. Their final emotions before you crashed came to play, had taken
over your very being and you knew they wouldn't leave. You learned at a
young age that these things stayed with you far after their owners were
gone, however, your mind was far too weak to fight it off.
Step Three in survival was trying not to crack. You promised yourself on day
five that you’d stay unbroken. You had far too many people waiting for you
to come home. It had taken days for the fires to die down and cease in their
oxygen fueled plight on your plane but soon, even they drew their dying breath
and their embers nustled in for their final cold night of living. You cross
the threshold of as much as you can, trying your best to ignore the
smell of cindering flesh, the smoke that still tickles under your nostrils,
the death that has seeped into this wreckage of something you once loved
and put your life into and again, you ask yourself, how could life be so
cruel to those who did not deserve it? You’re able to find a medical kit,
a survival kit, and a few other things to aid you as you now begin this
dark fight for life in an unknown place.
Step Four in survival came twenty-seven days after the cash. You're miles
away from the site. You’re still breathing fresh air and you’ve dressed your
wounds for what feels like the last time now that they’ve healed, but their
scars would stay for a lifetime. You were able to make a spear from a fallen
branch and a pocket knife your father had gifted you before you departed for
the air force. You’ve killed a few wild animals and you’ve built a fire in
different places as you’ve pushed yourself forward but you’ve reached your
breaking point. You’re alone in a forest and unknown territory. The enemy
could strike at any given time and you’d be at their mercy. You have no means
to fight back, no strength left in your tiring limbs, even as you lay your head
down to rest for the night, sleep has no longer welcomed you like an old friend, instead, it looks at you like a stranger and refuses to give you the comfort
that you frantically desired. How you longed to see the images of the girl you wanted to spend your life with. How you wanted to hug your parents and to see
your brothers, but those memories have all but faded until you’re so exhausted they’re all your mind can conjure to it’s core. You seek death but death does
not seek you.
Step Five in survival comes when you’ve tried to take your life. Abandoned,
haunted, alone. Your power only works one way and you can’t negate your own
emotions no matter how hard you try but you’re left with the emotions of
those you last helped, your friends, and you’re stuck remembering the last
look upon their faces before death sought their souls. Tears spring from your
eyes and cascade down your slimming features as they blend in with falling
rain. You feel anger as it rises in your body and you throw the closest thing
to you. How could God take everything from you? How could God have betrayed
you like this? You had given him everything that you were. You had given so
much faith to him, so much trust and it was thrown back into your face as if
you had been the one to betray him. You waver with the thought of tossing away
everything you’ve put faith in but at the same time, you still long for hope.
You still cling to it like it's the last breath in your lungs, the last look
you'll ever receive. For the fact that you can make it through this. Faith was
fickle, you know, and it torments the best, the same way death had done with
those you trusted with your life. Death held no prisoners. It was a mystery
shrouded in a cloud of black smoke, but you knew, in the end, death would
always win. You were just there to help make it a little more easier, a little
more peaceful for everyone but yourself.
Step Six in survival comes with a saving grace and someone has seen your
S.O.S. They have seen your flare as it rose high into the sky and you’re
laughing from the fact that you’re saved. You’re laughing at the fact that
hope has found you and soon you’ll be reunited with those you love. You
do not question if it’s enemy or friend that has seen your signals of help,
you’re too busy basking in the fact that the lord has given you a blessing
and you’ll be taken from this terrible place. You’ll be free from the demons
that haunt you on this land, at least, for a little while. You know if it's
an enemy, your fight will continue in a vastly different way but you're
desperate, unsure if it's for human contact of any kind, or just desperate to
leave. To escape this terrible chapter in your unfolding life. It's been months since you've seen salvation. Months since you've seen another face besides
your own in the reflection of a broken pool of water and you thank your lucky
stars that it’s firendly territory that rescues you in this time of need and surivival. They offer comfort in many forms; food, water, blankets. They
give you shelter in the plane destined for the nearest hospital base but they
do not speak a word of what you've been through. They do not ask about the
wreckage of your plane, or if you're the only survivor alive. They know the
look on your face gives answers to their unasked questions and soon, the
familiar, and once comforting sound of a roaring plane engine ignites your
ears, capturing your soul and you think of your family. Your three brothers
that are possibly still on the lines of fire, fighting every day to make it
home. Your parents and how happy they'll be to finally embrace you after two
years of being deployed and two months of being lost. You wonder if they got
a letter, a phone call, or worse, a soldier at their door, telling them their
son had been lost to the unforgiving wilderness and possibly may never return.
You swallow hard around the lump in throat because you know you've worried
them. You've scared them and you don't need to hear their voices to know just
what kind of grief you've caused them. You think of the girl that had been
waiting for you. The possiblity of her moving on lingers in your mind, and
you decide, as your saving plane glides through the air, that she deserves a
life of happiness long ago, even if that means without you at her side.
Step Seven in survival is what is seen to be the final step because then
comes recovery from what you’ve faced and the things you’ve witnessed.
You press your head against the glass of the moving vehicle. A blanket
is wrapped around you and you’re heading home to the Bayou. You can almost
smell the Cajun cooking wafting through the air and the thought brings
a smile to your face but soon your faced with survival guilt. After all,
you’re the only one who gets to receive a homecoming from those you called
brothers, even if they weren’t related by blood. From those you love who had
been told the news twenty-four hours earlier about your rescue. You know that
this is what recovery is. This is what they meant when the doctors told you
that you may not ever recover from the emotional turmoil you faced. After all,
not many men could survive the way you did. Alone, lost and fleeting for a
saving grace from a being that you almost lost faith in. This was the end
of what should have been your road and you know that you shouldn’t have
survived. You promise yourself one more time that it’ll be their stories that
you tell until the end of days because you're now considered a hero in the
public's eye. A man who faced all odds and won. A man who could've lost
himself in the sweet callings of the jungle, but fought long enough to keep
sane. What they didn't know was just how far from the truth they truly were.
You were no survivor. You suffered wounds that will never heal no matter how
long you live. You know that life will never be the same and you may never
find the comfort that your body, your soul, seeks at the end of the day when
you close your eyes to sleep.
Your survival story has ended but it has only just begun. You made it
through the jungle, through what was said by the public, as the hardest
part, but the doctors were right. The hardest part had only just started.
You were faced with becoming a citizen again. With mingling with those you
were suppose to see as peers. Those you called friends had been expecting
phone calls and hugs. They had been at your side the day you came home but
they had left by nightfall. The girl you had been longing for left with an
apology on her lips, her happiness had been found but it wasn't with you.
Your parents were the only ones who stayed. They checked on you every hour
for the next week and you wanted to stay numb to the world that wanted you
back. You stayed with those dying emotions. Their faces haunting you each
time you closed your eyes. Death was the sweetest angel in times of
desperation and the cruelest friend in times of hope and happiness. Death
didn't chose it's outcome or those it wrapped in it's silken blanket. Death
hadn't been to blame in it's mysterious footprints it left on your heart
and being. Death was nothing more than a start and an end. You have made
your peace but you know that peace may never truly find you again and so,
you'll continue to survive. You'll move forward and you'll fake every smile
until it becomes reality. You'll laugh the hardest until you're not laughing
alone and you'll live until the sun basks you in it's rays once more.
Happiness will return to you eventually and their stories will forever
live on.
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