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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Survival / Success
- Subject: Drama
- Published: 04/25/2023
The Joy of Flying
Born 1954, M, from St Louis Mo, United StatesAnyone that has ever done much flying, rather domestic or overseas has a story to tell. I guess for each person delayed, sleeping in a airport waiting room, or sitting by an obnoxious person, the fights over the overhead space, and the person that squeezes you to a smashed piece of bread who should of paid for two seats. The unruly child that grabs you with sticky hands, throws a huge fit, and a screaming parent.
All those bad experiences are told over and over as the nightmares they indeed are. So what to call my experience might qualify as something more, perhaps a creepy horror story. The tale of a deranged woman, or an over active mind. Perhaps a case of a yet undiscovered crazy person. No matter what you choose to label it as, it is as real as the bellyache one gets when they over indulge in delicious food, that leaves you, well I think you know.
I am just a simple guy, an assessment mechanical engineer, that travels all over the world as needed. I spend about half the year 'on the road again' as the song says. So this trip to South Korea was nothing new, just another hotel, lots of mostly disappointing restaurant food, and a yearning to be back home.
Everything seemed to be going about normal, the flight to the hub was uneventful. In Denver I boarded my flight for 12 hours of joy, haha, not. I was seated, at least in an aisle seat with an old Japanese couple and grand child taking the four seats beside me. I knew sleep was not going to be easy, and perhaps I should have been a Fortune teller. The old man kept getting up to go to restroom.
The kid was like one minute smiling and cute, then was a screaming demon from the deepest part of hell. The food was next to unbeatable and the one good thing the supply of ice cold coke was plentiful.
At about eleven hours of flight time, the plane began to bounce and rumble way more than normal. The pilot came on the speaker, seems we had a bit of an issue, an engine was giving issues. So we going to be making an emergency landing.
It was till we were making our decent that we learned it was an abandoned air field on an island somewhere near to Japan but closer to North Korea. Seems the airfield was left over from World War II and a bit short on length and rough. The call went out to get into crash position, that bent over head to knees, and hands over the head.
The landing was a disaster, a pot hole popped a tire, we skidded into the thick woods at the end. That’s when the wings were ripped off and the explosion happened. Smoke and flames seemed to fill the cabin, screaming, not words, just loud unbearable screams. The smell of burning flesh, body parts flying by as an are hit me, first time I was ever slapped by a hand with no body connected to the arm.
I managed to crawl out of my seat and began to belly crawl towards the back. I remember something hot and wet on the isle, I know it was a who, but what kind of who, I can not say. I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to live. Funny how when death is all around us out mind shuts down the smell, and the ears grow deaf to the screams. Your lungs feel up with smoke, eyes grow blind and burning. All you want to do is live, one more moment or one more day is not important, just live.
I got a glimpse of a whole in the wall, what once metal and plastic and windows, now open space. That was my goal, my mind said, get to the hole, get there and live. So I did and pulled though it, the six foot drop, the smack on the ground, the heat around me, I just kept crawling. Whatever pain I felt, my mind shut off, live, live, live, it called out. I made it to some trees, and that was heaven. My mind and body melted into sleep, ok doctors would call I a coma.
When I next woke up, time had stopped, the smoke floated up but no flames. I did a self inspection, can’t say my clothes looked worthy of a Sunday morning visit to church, but a few small cuts, no broken bones, I was either alive or a ghost.
I got up and looked to find others, no one else was found alive. Did God spare me, or the devil miss taking me, or I was indeed a ghost. I mean how could I know for sure. I touched a piece of the plane and it burnt my finger, so that left me to conclude I was alive.
I began to look for clothes, I didn’t find my bag, but a bag remained that was a woman’s. How did in know, well unless he was a cross dresser had to be a woman’s. I found bottles of water thrown all around the crash. Stupid is as stupid does, they say, who the they is I don’t know. I took a bottle and a women’s, I love babies tee shirt and washed.
Then, I guess I am now a cross dresser, I put on a bit tight women’s underpants, a tee shirt, covered in flowers and jeans, a big broad at the hips. A pair of socks that had butterflies and my own shoes. I used the brush to comb my hair. I discovered a back pack, that had some cookies and potato chips, and two baby bottles, which I tossed aside.
I put water bottles and all the airline’s remaining snacks I could find in the backpack. I looked for a building and there was none, I wondered if anyone knew where we went down, even if they did a search with what was left of the plan in the trees could it be seen.
I found an old path, decided that was my one hope. I took a rod about four feet long I found, decided it would make a good spear if I needed it. I was so tired, maybe a good thing, because ghosts don’t get tired do they?
I looked around and saw a rock overhang, laid on the ground with the backpack for a pillow and slept. When I woke up, I had a bad headache, in fact everything ached, further proof I was not a ghost. I started walking. Two days of walking, drinking water, my snacks gone and I saw a village.
There were about a dozen bamboo shacks, and men and women barely clothed and most of the kids wore nothing. My hope for a phone was dashed, I knew this place would be of no help. If you think I just stepped through a door of the past I did.
I found a half a dozen men circling me, barely a piece of skin hung on a belt covering their manhood or perhaps boyhood. Being well traveled I tried to speak in English than a few words I know in Japanese. That was a mistake, I found sharp spears pointing right at my stomach, which was not feeling all that good.
Now I thought I knew fear, after all I had just been in a plane crash, survived a hell I had never dreamed could be real, now I saw death. I mean, have you ever met death or imagined what he looked like? In those dead eyes and expression of hate, I knew I was meeting death.
A leather rope went and my neck with a leash, I was dragged to the center of the village. Some skinny lady with basketballs on her chest, but more like balls with out most of their air stepped in front of me. The people looked to be a cross between asian and African. She mumbled some words and pointed toward what I can only describe looked like what they used to call a whipping post. I was strapped to it with hands pulled behind me and around the pole.
Being a fan of old movies, I saw asian girls pick up carry logs in this way. But that pole had no give or I am just a weakling or both. The rest of the day in the heat I stood, natives coming to stare at me, some laughing as my death guards watched over me, without any expression but hate.
As the sun went down to girls, perhaps sixteen, came carrying long knifes. They cut my borrowed clothes off me, I might have been embarrassed by the women’s panties, but I expect they didn’t know the difference. Besides they were cut away and burned in a near by fire pit.
I expect the Curiosity at seeing a white naked male, but I didn’t expect the laughing and giggling as they pointed at a manhood I was rather proud of. Then buckets of water was tossed on me. And a set of news girls began to scrub me clean. I saw a huge cast iron kettle hung over the fire, as a group of old ladies added what I am sure was spices.
I saw what appeared as strange vegetables being tossed in the smell was wonderful. I thought I hope, they feed me some of that. By now being naked was forgotten and even the yanking and playing with unmentionables was ignored. I was hungry.
A long table was carried out by four men, the old ladies laid an assortment of knifes and what I assumed were spices. Then a huge wooden bucket was set at the end of the table. A older man was sharpening what I knew in the Philippines they call a bolo knife.
Then the lady with the sagging basket ball chest walked up. She examined me, then began squeezing my muscles and belly. Then she bit my arm, as she stepped back I saw my blood on her lips as she licked them. As she turned to give some kind of instructions a young girl ran off to return with what looked like onions and some roots that were a bit like carrots and tossed in the pot.
At that moment I got it, slow of reasonable thinking, maybe due to hunger or the weakness from the crash. I knew that stew was going to be shared, and I was the meat for the pot. When they kids began to sing and dance around me I tried to shout for help, but truth might as well be told. I cried like a baby and if I had of had pants on, they would have been wet.
The guy with the bolo knife stopped sharpening it, and as he came and stood taking account of my neck, I knew what was about to happen……
His arm went back a practice swing was made. Not like in the moves, no last minute rescue to be had. I prayed, I always thought I was a Christian, but now facing death, I realized, I was such a good one. I begged for forgiveness and hoped he was listening, I would soon be finding out.
The native took a step closer, I saw as in in a dream his arm go back, in the background a crowd was gathered, cheers of encouragement or glee, I closed my eyes…… I screamed my last scream…..
A hand was shaking me, sir we are landed in Tokyo, please wake up.
Some nightmares are real at least in the mind, as I made my way off the plane I tried to hide my wet pants.
The Joy of Flying(Rich Puckett)
Anyone that has ever done much flying, rather domestic or overseas has a story to tell. I guess for each person delayed, sleeping in a airport waiting room, or sitting by an obnoxious person, the fights over the overhead space, and the person that squeezes you to a smashed piece of bread who should of paid for two seats. The unruly child that grabs you with sticky hands, throws a huge fit, and a screaming parent.
All those bad experiences are told over and over as the nightmares they indeed are. So what to call my experience might qualify as something more, perhaps a creepy horror story. The tale of a deranged woman, or an over active mind. Perhaps a case of a yet undiscovered crazy person. No matter what you choose to label it as, it is as real as the bellyache one gets when they over indulge in delicious food, that leaves you, well I think you know.
I am just a simple guy, an assessment mechanical engineer, that travels all over the world as needed. I spend about half the year 'on the road again' as the song says. So this trip to South Korea was nothing new, just another hotel, lots of mostly disappointing restaurant food, and a yearning to be back home.
Everything seemed to be going about normal, the flight to the hub was uneventful. In Denver I boarded my flight for 12 hours of joy, haha, not. I was seated, at least in an aisle seat with an old Japanese couple and grand child taking the four seats beside me. I knew sleep was not going to be easy, and perhaps I should have been a Fortune teller. The old man kept getting up to go to restroom.
The kid was like one minute smiling and cute, then was a screaming demon from the deepest part of hell. The food was next to unbeatable and the one good thing the supply of ice cold coke was plentiful.
At about eleven hours of flight time, the plane began to bounce and rumble way more than normal. The pilot came on the speaker, seems we had a bit of an issue, an engine was giving issues. So we going to be making an emergency landing.
It was till we were making our decent that we learned it was an abandoned air field on an island somewhere near to Japan but closer to North Korea. Seems the airfield was left over from World War II and a bit short on length and rough. The call went out to get into crash position, that bent over head to knees, and hands over the head.
The landing was a disaster, a pot hole popped a tire, we skidded into the thick woods at the end. That’s when the wings were ripped off and the explosion happened. Smoke and flames seemed to fill the cabin, screaming, not words, just loud unbearable screams. The smell of burning flesh, body parts flying by as an are hit me, first time I was ever slapped by a hand with no body connected to the arm.
I managed to crawl out of my seat and began to belly crawl towards the back. I remember something hot and wet on the isle, I know it was a who, but what kind of who, I can not say. I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to live. Funny how when death is all around us out mind shuts down the smell, and the ears grow deaf to the screams. Your lungs feel up with smoke, eyes grow blind and burning. All you want to do is live, one more moment or one more day is not important, just live.
I got a glimpse of a whole in the wall, what once metal and plastic and windows, now open space. That was my goal, my mind said, get to the hole, get there and live. So I did and pulled though it, the six foot drop, the smack on the ground, the heat around me, I just kept crawling. Whatever pain I felt, my mind shut off, live, live, live, it called out. I made it to some trees, and that was heaven. My mind and body melted into sleep, ok doctors would call I a coma.
When I next woke up, time had stopped, the smoke floated up but no flames. I did a self inspection, can’t say my clothes looked worthy of a Sunday morning visit to church, but a few small cuts, no broken bones, I was either alive or a ghost.
I got up and looked to find others, no one else was found alive. Did God spare me, or the devil miss taking me, or I was indeed a ghost. I mean how could I know for sure. I touched a piece of the plane and it burnt my finger, so that left me to conclude I was alive.
I began to look for clothes, I didn’t find my bag, but a bag remained that was a woman’s. How did in know, well unless he was a cross dresser had to be a woman’s. I found bottles of water thrown all around the crash. Stupid is as stupid does, they say, who the they is I don’t know. I took a bottle and a women’s, I love babies tee shirt and washed.
Then, I guess I am now a cross dresser, I put on a bit tight women’s underpants, a tee shirt, covered in flowers and jeans, a big broad at the hips. A pair of socks that had butterflies and my own shoes. I used the brush to comb my hair. I discovered a back pack, that had some cookies and potato chips, and two baby bottles, which I tossed aside.
I put water bottles and all the airline’s remaining snacks I could find in the backpack. I looked for a building and there was none, I wondered if anyone knew where we went down, even if they did a search with what was left of the plan in the trees could it be seen.
I found an old path, decided that was my one hope. I took a rod about four feet long I found, decided it would make a good spear if I needed it. I was so tired, maybe a good thing, because ghosts don’t get tired do they?
I looked around and saw a rock overhang, laid on the ground with the backpack for a pillow and slept. When I woke up, I had a bad headache, in fact everything ached, further proof I was not a ghost. I started walking. Two days of walking, drinking water, my snacks gone and I saw a village.
There were about a dozen bamboo shacks, and men and women barely clothed and most of the kids wore nothing. My hope for a phone was dashed, I knew this place would be of no help. If you think I just stepped through a door of the past I did.
I found a half a dozen men circling me, barely a piece of skin hung on a belt covering their manhood or perhaps boyhood. Being well traveled I tried to speak in English than a few words I know in Japanese. That was a mistake, I found sharp spears pointing right at my stomach, which was not feeling all that good.
Now I thought I knew fear, after all I had just been in a plane crash, survived a hell I had never dreamed could be real, now I saw death. I mean, have you ever met death or imagined what he looked like? In those dead eyes and expression of hate, I knew I was meeting death.
A leather rope went and my neck with a leash, I was dragged to the center of the village. Some skinny lady with basketballs on her chest, but more like balls with out most of their air stepped in front of me. The people looked to be a cross between asian and African. She mumbled some words and pointed toward what I can only describe looked like what they used to call a whipping post. I was strapped to it with hands pulled behind me and around the pole.
Being a fan of old movies, I saw asian girls pick up carry logs in this way. But that pole had no give or I am just a weakling or both. The rest of the day in the heat I stood, natives coming to stare at me, some laughing as my death guards watched over me, without any expression but hate.
As the sun went down to girls, perhaps sixteen, came carrying long knifes. They cut my borrowed clothes off me, I might have been embarrassed by the women’s panties, but I expect they didn’t know the difference. Besides they were cut away and burned in a near by fire pit.
I expect the Curiosity at seeing a white naked male, but I didn’t expect the laughing and giggling as they pointed at a manhood I was rather proud of. Then buckets of water was tossed on me. And a set of news girls began to scrub me clean. I saw a huge cast iron kettle hung over the fire, as a group of old ladies added what I am sure was spices.
I saw what appeared as strange vegetables being tossed in the smell was wonderful. I thought I hope, they feed me some of that. By now being naked was forgotten and even the yanking and playing with unmentionables was ignored. I was hungry.
A long table was carried out by four men, the old ladies laid an assortment of knifes and what I assumed were spices. Then a huge wooden bucket was set at the end of the table. A older man was sharpening what I knew in the Philippines they call a bolo knife.
Then the lady with the sagging basket ball chest walked up. She examined me, then began squeezing my muscles and belly. Then she bit my arm, as she stepped back I saw my blood on her lips as she licked them. As she turned to give some kind of instructions a young girl ran off to return with what looked like onions and some roots that were a bit like carrots and tossed in the pot.
At that moment I got it, slow of reasonable thinking, maybe due to hunger or the weakness from the crash. I knew that stew was going to be shared, and I was the meat for the pot. When they kids began to sing and dance around me I tried to shout for help, but truth might as well be told. I cried like a baby and if I had of had pants on, they would have been wet.
The guy with the bolo knife stopped sharpening it, and as he came and stood taking account of my neck, I knew what was about to happen……
His arm went back a practice swing was made. Not like in the moves, no last minute rescue to be had. I prayed, I always thought I was a Christian, but now facing death, I realized, I was such a good one. I begged for forgiveness and hoped he was listening, I would soon be finding out.
The native took a step closer, I saw as in in a dream his arm go back, in the background a crowd was gathered, cheers of encouragement or glee, I closed my eyes…… I screamed my last scream…..
A hand was shaking me, sir we are landed in Tokyo, please wake up.
Some nightmares are real at least in the mind, as I made my way off the plane I tried to hide my wet pants.
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