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The Loneliest Path

The plane continued to fall as his mother helped him fasten his belt and assume a fetal position. The vibrations of the speeding plane became more and more intense as the ground grew closer and closer. He glanced up momentarily to see that the cabin door was ajar. Through it, he could see the pilot struggling with the controls, trying to gain altitude. They had been told that the landing gear would not open and it was to be a rough landing. As the plane impacted, a loud ripping noise split the afternoon sky. As the front end separated from the rear, his belt was severed by a large shard of flying steel and he was thrown violently into the outside world.

He awoke many hours later with brittle sand pressing roughly into the soft skin of his face. In the last rays of the dying sun, he saw the plane, the fore-section two hundred feet ahead of the tail. The sand was scattered here and there with remnants of the charred and broken plane. He could see the blackened bodies of pilot and copilot jutting forth from the jagged holes where once there had been windows. He slowly began to walk toward the smoldering wreckage. As he rounded the jagged casing where the tail section had separated, he saw the charred forms of his parents. Next to them lay what had been his seat, the two halves of the severed belt still burning. He slowly knelt to the ground and wept. That night, he slept at the feet of his past.

The next morning, as the newborn sun began to shed its hammering rays upon the sand, he began to sift through the wreckage in search of useful artifacts. While shifting through the blackened steel shrapnel that was scattered about, he spied a bag of luggage which had apparently been thrown clear. He shuffled over, spilling its contents onto the shifting sands. Immediately, the wind snatched his parents clothing away, tossing it to the faraway dunes. On the ground remained only a few instruments of proper hygiene. He grabbed the old-fashioned straight razor from among them and shoved it in his pocket. The other items he left as they lay and continued to rummage through the remaining wreckage. In the cockpit, he found the black box, which contained the captain's logs. He also found a map with their intended flight plan clearly marked, a compass, and some emergency first aide items. He spent the remaining hours of that day studying the map and trying to figure out which way would take him closer to his destination. Having refueled less than one hour before the crash, he knew that any rescue search would be to late. He had to attempt the long trek on foot, or simply slip into the sand and die. As he began to walk, he placed into his mind the only image which could offer any hope, the image of his friend.

He walked throughout the night, knowing that any travel during the daylight hours would be madness. At the sight of every cactus, he retrieved the straight razor from his pocket, using it to draw from the plant what water he could. In this way, he passed the night. His one thought was that he must carry on that he might make it to her. He hoped that he could make it to her before it was too late.

As the sun began to rise, he beheld a large oasis on the horizon. Golden sunlight beamed from a serene pool of lovely water. Beautiful palm trees were shown in the pool's mirrour-like surface. In the midst of the oasis she stood. She waited at the edge of the water, her raven-black hair blowing in a slight breeze. He began to run towards her as fast as he could, which, of late, was not very fast. He extended his arms to embrace her, and collapsed into the pool of sand. He sat up and peered around, only to see that the oasis had vanished, as had she. His salvation had been but a mirage. Slowly, he lay back into the sand, and decided to die. Just before he began to fade, a sudden breeze sang to him in a voice he recognized. The song beckoned him, pulled him to his feet. With no conscious effort, he began to walk once more.

The next morning, his strength nearly at an end, he saw something else. A village lay not far ahead, its squat mud and straw houses white in the morning sun. As he drew closer, he could see small children playing in the streets, old women watching and working. The closer he became, the more notice the villagers paid him. At the edge of the village, he collapsed into the sand, visions of another mirage in his mind.

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