02:00 to Tokyo
"The simple man has always dreamed of being closer to god"
"No, no", Greg thought to himself. "Too cheesy".
"Men of this earth always wanted to get closer to heaven. With that, they would be one with the divine, and their chains, tying them to their creators would grow thinner than ever. Flying, I guess, is one way of doing that, cause then, heavens are right within our grasp. Or are they? Still, more often than not, it seems that we will never get there."
"Better", he muttered. "Better, but needs something more. It will make a great beginning though. Or maybe a great ending? Hmmm... I need to think this one through."
Greg really liked these literary excursions of his. He was no writer, make no mistake, but putting his minds into a written form always helped him purge his emotions. Plus, they departed Istanbul at 02:00h in the morning, on a 12 hours flight, labeled TK 241. There are just so many things you can do when you're boxed with other 200 people for 12 hours. Writing always calmed him down.
Well, who knew? Greg, writing. Phew... Although he was not your average cup of nerdy, he was elbows deep in running an IT business and him going to Tokyo was exactly that: a business trip. It seems that his job always had a hard time letting him go. Writing helped. And beer.
"Where is that flight attendant?", Greg thought to himself. He was trying to get another beer, but, it seems that flight attendants have a knack of disappearing out of existence, every time that you need them. And the flight was all riled up. Right next to him, an elderly couple was hurdled into one medium sized elderly ball, both sleeping like a baby elephant. She was Japanese, he was Hindu. Miko and Mohinder. They introduced themselves to Greg the very second after he sat down, with a full salvo of Japanese courtesy. Greg thought them to be adorable, and couldn't get angry with them even after Mohinder accidentally spilled olive oil all over Greg's new sweater. What was promptly nibbling on Greg's soul was the love they had for each other. I mean, she was spoon-feeding him chocolate pudding for god's sake! If that's not love, I don't know what is. Looking at them was relentlessly making small fractures all over Greg's heart, probably cause they reminded him of his parents. He was never really the same after they died.
"Where on earth is that flight attendant?", Greg thought. "Miss...", he called. "Hello, miss... anyone?". Nobody replied.
Behind him, Vitaliy, an old-school Russian engineer, just couldn't stop sneezing. He was the chief engineer on an oil rig, just outside of Osaka, and his 20 years of experience in Syberia made him a perfect man for the job. But, one would think that all of those years spent at -30 degrees would help him in defending his health against a Turkish bug.
"A-CHOO!"
Seems not.
"AAAA...-CHOOO", Vitaly sneezed again.
"Oh god", Vitaliy thought.
"Oh god", Greg thought.
Mohinder and Miko just snored mildly, and went about their dreaming business.
Across the isle from Greg was a Polish duo, a mother and daughter, returning to Tokyo after 12 years. They just couldn't stop talking about it, and they did talk about it to whomever wanted to listen. Greg really didn't have much of a choice, he had to listen to them, like it or not.
"Miss?". No dice.
"Are there any flight attendants on this flight? Miss??", Greg yelled. For a moment there, he saw someone pass by the area where flight attendants usually sit. But, it was more like a shadow, a reflection even. "Miss?", Greg asked, this time, with a note of precaution in his voice. Again, no response.
In front of him, calmly, and with a clear aura of dignity, sat Dr. Satoshi Moro, an astrophysicist coming back from a lecture he held at the university of Istanbul. Crimson turtleneck, gray tweed jacket, thick glasses, this guy had academia written all over him. Greg thought that a guy like this most probably incurred respect into his students. He just had that feeling about him. The professor was so polite that he asked Greg if it would be ok for him to put down his seat and if he would have enough leg room.
"Dear pas...ers...we are goi...through a storm. The level... urbulence will be... evere."
"Dear god", Greg thought, "even their radio is broken. I will never fly with them again."
And although Greg braced for turbulence, he didn't feel a thing. Not a single twitch. "What is wrong with these people", he thought. Meanwhile, the crowd started making noise. Panicking. The announcement went on. "We are expi....ng tur...lence, please remain... eated and fasten yo"... and then it went silent. The constant revving of the engines was the only thing that Greg could hear clearly, but the noise of other passengers was more like a muffled blabber. And, strangely enough, there was still no turbulence. Just a garbled noise of people as if... it reminded him of... he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Vitaliy kept sneezing.
Mohinder and Miko kept snoring.
The polish ladies kept on talking.
Greg kept on wondering about what the hell is going on.
"Where is that flight attendant", he thought to himself. "Miss??". Again nothing. This time, not even a shadow.
At the Tokyo airport, the crew had a lazy night. The control tower was manned by only two guys: Yoshida and Kotomichi. While Kotomichi was sound asleep, Yoshida was going over a discussion in his head, a discussion that he had with his girlfriend, only moments before she left him. He was stuck in a loop since then, thinking of and replaying that conversation over and over again. It was tearing holes in his mind. His friends were telling him that he needs to move on, but that was easier said than done. Even Kotomichi told him the same thing, right before he went to sleep. That irresponsible twat. Sleeping on the job. As if Joshi didn't have enough work on his hands himself.
And as Yoshi was staring at a shiny blimp on the radar with a label saying TK 241, and at the same time the 14353rd in-head replay of Yoshi's tragedy has finally finished, the unimaginable happened: that blimp was suddenly gone.
Code red. Yoshi started yelling "KOTO!!! KOTOMICHI!!! WAKE UP!!!"
Kotomichi jumped out of his chair.
"What? What? Why? What? What happened? Why are you yelling? What time is it??", Kotomichi tried to get a grasp of his existence.
"Koto, we lost a plane, we need to report this, this is an accident, we lost it, just as they entered Japanese air space!".
Now, Kotomichi was wide awake. He could almost feel the adrenaline ripping through his system. He picked up the phone to call their supervisor.
"Mr. Yamamoto? This is Kotomichi from flight control. We have a problem that needs an urgent attendance Yamamoto-san! We lost a flight! We d... yes, just a second. Yoshi, which was the flight number again?"
"TK 241", Yoshida replied with a whispering voice.
"TK 241, ser. Yes ser. Yes, Yoshida Matsubara was the one who reported it. Yes sir. Yes.... umm, yes, ok, I am listening... aha... aha...". In the following 10 seconds, Kotomichi went from full red-cheeked panic machine to silent, mouth half-opened, white as a ghost, listener. Something was definitely wrong.
"Aha... I see... I understand sir... we will do as you advise sir. Thank you.", muttered Kotomichi as he closed the phone.
"What happened", asked Yoshi.
"There is no urgent matter", said Kotomichi. "We are to stand down".
"But... how?? Why???? That plane is lost, I saw it with my own two eyes!!", cried Yoshi.
"That's the thing", replied Koto. "We don't have that plane on our flight list. TK 241 does not exist on the list of tonight's flights. The boss checked it himself."
"But, how is that possible?? I saw it myself!".
"Yamamoto explained that as well. Seems that, 10 years ago, there WAS a flight TK 241, on a night just like this one. Yamamoto was working the flight control desk, back then. Just as the flight entered the Japanese air space, one of the engines blew and they lost control of the vessel. They crash-landed into the sea, near Kyoto. All of the passengers, including the crew died."
Yoshida just sat there, fretting to even try understand what Koto was saying.
"Mr. Yamamoto added", Kotomichi resumed, "that since then, the TK 241 number was decommissioned and never used by the company again. However, once in a while, apparently, we get this blimp on the radars. He says that it is a technical error, although the technicians can't seem to find anything wrong with the equipment. He also told us that this should be a reminder for us to never fall asleep on the job, and suggested to never speak about this to anyone. Never. EVER."
Yoshida, pale as a morning fog around mount Fuji, felt the cold drops of sweat running down his forehead. Kotomichi was no better. A hard, iron silence took over the control tower of the Tokyo airport, and both of them never fell asleep in the office since then.
At some 10000 meters above ground the engines were revving, although one of them seemed to have some problems, or at least that was what Greg thought.
"A-CHOO!", Vitaliy sneezeed.
Miko and Mohinder seemed to snore even stronger, but they were strangely covered with a blanket and Greg was not sure why is that so.
Everybody else seemed as a kind of a blur to Greg. "Miss!", Greg yelled. "Miss, I don't feel well, can someone please come and help me?". And then, finally, the flight attendant came. Greg noticed that she had a trickle of blood running down her face. And then, several trickles more. He decided to let her go as it seemed that she was injured, but didn't seem to notice?? "Never mind", he said. "I... feel better now". Other people were making strange noises, similar to those that people make in fear. But... not quite. Again, they were muffled, like... well like... yes, that's it, as if they are under water. Hmmm... never mind, he couldn't think about that now, he had a company to run, conference to visit, and yes, a story to write. He picked up his laptop and his fingers started the, very much, familiar dance.
"Men of this earth always wanted to get closer to heaven. With that, they would be one with the divine, and their chains, tying them to their creators would grow thinner than ever. Flying, I guess, is one way of doing that, cause then, heavens are right within our grasp. Or are they? Still, more often than not, it seems that we will never get there. Not that we don't want to. It's because we don't know how. The thing is, as much as we want to fly, there is always something that pulls us back to the ground. A strange force of nature, a shadow, something, but what is it, what is the reason for our souls being trapped, legs tied and arms raised towards the thing that we desire the most? Is it our roots? Perhaps. Our sins? Maybe. Our unfulfilled wishes? Who knows. It might be anything. Some unfinished business? A misdeed. A misspoken word. A misplaced blame. An unsaid "I am sorry". An unsaid "I love you". A song unsung. Or maybe... just maybe... a story untold."
"Much, much better", Greg thought to himself.
"Why do I feel so cold?", he wondered. "Maybe it is because I'm tired. Yes it has to be that. I am just tired", he thought, while the plane slowly vanished out of existence, and all that was left was a cold, dark, silent sky, pierced by the bright light of the pale blue moon.
"No, no", Greg thought to himself. "Too cheesy".
"Men of this earth always wanted to get closer to heaven. With that, they would be one with the divine, and their chains, tying them to their creators would grow thinner than ever. Flying, I guess, is one way of doing that, cause then, heavens are right within our grasp. Or are they? Still, more often than not, it seems that we will never get there."
"Better", he muttered. "Better, but needs something more. It will make a great beginning though. Or maybe a great ending? Hmmm... I need to think this one through."
Greg really liked these literary excursions of his. He was no writer, make no mistake, but putting his minds into a written form always helped him purge his emotions. Plus, they departed Istanbul at 02:00h in the morning, on a 12 hours flight, labeled TK 241. There are just so many things you can do when you're boxed with other 200 people for 12 hours. Writing always calmed him down.
Well, who knew? Greg, writing. Phew... Although he was not your average cup of nerdy, he was elbows deep in running an IT business and him going to Tokyo was exactly that: a business trip. It seems that his job always had a hard time letting him go. Writing helped. And beer.
"Where is that flight attendant?", Greg thought to himself. He was trying to get another beer, but, it seems that flight attendants have a knack of disappearing out of existence, every time that you need them. And the flight was all riled up. Right next to him, an elderly couple was hurdled into one medium sized elderly ball, both sleeping like a baby elephant. She was Japanese, he was Hindu. Miko and Mohinder. They introduced themselves to Greg the very second after he sat down, with a full salvo of Japanese courtesy. Greg thought them to be adorable, and couldn't get angry with them even after Mohinder accidentally spilled olive oil all over Greg's new sweater. What was promptly nibbling on Greg's soul was the love they had for each other. I mean, she was spoon-feeding him chocolate pudding for god's sake! If that's not love, I don't know what is. Looking at them was relentlessly making small fractures all over Greg's heart, probably cause they reminded him of his parents. He was never really the same after they died.
"Where on earth is that flight attendant?", Greg thought. "Miss...", he called. "Hello, miss... anyone?". Nobody replied.
Behind him, Vitaliy, an old-school Russian engineer, just couldn't stop sneezing. He was the chief engineer on an oil rig, just outside of Osaka, and his 20 years of experience in Syberia made him a perfect man for the job. But, one would think that all of those years spent at -30 degrees would help him in defending his health against a Turkish bug.
"A-CHOO!"
Seems not.
"AAAA...-CHOOO", Vitaly sneezed again.
"Oh god", Vitaliy thought.
"Oh god", Greg thought.
Mohinder and Miko just snored mildly, and went about their dreaming business.
Across the isle from Greg was a Polish duo, a mother and daughter, returning to Tokyo after 12 years. They just couldn't stop talking about it, and they did talk about it to whomever wanted to listen. Greg really didn't have much of a choice, he had to listen to them, like it or not.
"Miss?". No dice.
"Are there any flight attendants on this flight? Miss??", Greg yelled. For a moment there, he saw someone pass by the area where flight attendants usually sit. But, it was more like a shadow, a reflection even. "Miss?", Greg asked, this time, with a note of precaution in his voice. Again, no response.
In front of him, calmly, and with a clear aura of dignity, sat Dr. Satoshi Moro, an astrophysicist coming back from a lecture he held at the university of Istanbul. Crimson turtleneck, gray tweed jacket, thick glasses, this guy had academia written all over him. Greg thought that a guy like this most probably incurred respect into his students. He just had that feeling about him. The professor was so polite that he asked Greg if it would be ok for him to put down his seat and if he would have enough leg room.
"Dear pas...ers...we are goi...through a storm. The level... urbulence will be... evere."
"Dear god", Greg thought, "even their radio is broken. I will never fly with them again."
And although Greg braced for turbulence, he didn't feel a thing. Not a single twitch. "What is wrong with these people", he thought. Meanwhile, the crowd started making noise. Panicking. The announcement went on. "We are expi....ng tur...lence, please remain... eated and fasten yo"... and then it went silent. The constant revving of the engines was the only thing that Greg could hear clearly, but the noise of other passengers was more like a muffled blabber. And, strangely enough, there was still no turbulence. Just a garbled noise of people as if... it reminded him of... he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Vitaliy kept sneezing.
Mohinder and Miko kept snoring.
The polish ladies kept on talking.
Greg kept on wondering about what the hell is going on.
"Where is that flight attendant", he thought to himself. "Miss??". Again nothing. This time, not even a shadow.
At the Tokyo airport, the crew had a lazy night. The control tower was manned by only two guys: Yoshida and Kotomichi. While Kotomichi was sound asleep, Yoshida was going over a discussion in his head, a discussion that he had with his girlfriend, only moments before she left him. He was stuck in a loop since then, thinking of and replaying that conversation over and over again. It was tearing holes in his mind. His friends were telling him that he needs to move on, but that was easier said than done. Even Kotomichi told him the same thing, right before he went to sleep. That irresponsible twat. Sleeping on the job. As if Joshi didn't have enough work on his hands himself.
And as Yoshi was staring at a shiny blimp on the radar with a label saying TK 241, and at the same time the 14353rd in-head replay of Yoshi's tragedy has finally finished, the unimaginable happened: that blimp was suddenly gone.
Code red. Yoshi started yelling "KOTO!!! KOTOMICHI!!! WAKE UP!!!"
Kotomichi jumped out of his chair.
"What? What? Why? What? What happened? Why are you yelling? What time is it??", Kotomichi tried to get a grasp of his existence.
"Koto, we lost a plane, we need to report this, this is an accident, we lost it, just as they entered Japanese air space!".
Now, Kotomichi was wide awake. He could almost feel the adrenaline ripping through his system. He picked up the phone to call their supervisor.
"Mr. Yamamoto? This is Kotomichi from flight control. We have a problem that needs an urgent attendance Yamamoto-san! We lost a flight! We d... yes, just a second. Yoshi, which was the flight number again?"
"TK 241", Yoshida replied with a whispering voice.
"TK 241, ser. Yes ser. Yes, Yoshida Matsubara was the one who reported it. Yes sir. Yes.... umm, yes, ok, I am listening... aha... aha...". In the following 10 seconds, Kotomichi went from full red-cheeked panic machine to silent, mouth half-opened, white as a ghost, listener. Something was definitely wrong.
"Aha... I see... I understand sir... we will do as you advise sir. Thank you.", muttered Kotomichi as he closed the phone.
"What happened", asked Yoshi.
"There is no urgent matter", said Kotomichi. "We are to stand down".
"But... how?? Why???? That plane is lost, I saw it with my own two eyes!!", cried Yoshi.
"That's the thing", replied Koto. "We don't have that plane on our flight list. TK 241 does not exist on the list of tonight's flights. The boss checked it himself."
"But, how is that possible?? I saw it myself!".
"Yamamoto explained that as well. Seems that, 10 years ago, there WAS a flight TK 241, on a night just like this one. Yamamoto was working the flight control desk, back then. Just as the flight entered the Japanese air space, one of the engines blew and they lost control of the vessel. They crash-landed into the sea, near Kyoto. All of the passengers, including the crew died."
Yoshida just sat there, fretting to even try understand what Koto was saying.
"Mr. Yamamoto added", Kotomichi resumed, "that since then, the TK 241 number was decommissioned and never used by the company again. However, once in a while, apparently, we get this blimp on the radars. He says that it is a technical error, although the technicians can't seem to find anything wrong with the equipment. He also told us that this should be a reminder for us to never fall asleep on the job, and suggested to never speak about this to anyone. Never. EVER."
Yoshida, pale as a morning fog around mount Fuji, felt the cold drops of sweat running down his forehead. Kotomichi was no better. A hard, iron silence took over the control tower of the Tokyo airport, and both of them never fell asleep in the office since then.
At some 10000 meters above ground the engines were revving, although one of them seemed to have some problems, or at least that was what Greg thought.
"A-CHOO!", Vitaliy sneezeed.
Miko and Mohinder seemed to snore even stronger, but they were strangely covered with a blanket and Greg was not sure why is that so.
Everybody else seemed as a kind of a blur to Greg. "Miss!", Greg yelled. "Miss, I don't feel well, can someone please come and help me?". And then, finally, the flight attendant came. Greg noticed that she had a trickle of blood running down her face. And then, several trickles more. He decided to let her go as it seemed that she was injured, but didn't seem to notice?? "Never mind", he said. "I... feel better now". Other people were making strange noises, similar to those that people make in fear. But... not quite. Again, they were muffled, like... well like... yes, that's it, as if they are under water. Hmmm... never mind, he couldn't think about that now, he had a company to run, conference to visit, and yes, a story to write. He picked up his laptop and his fingers started the, very much, familiar dance.
"Men of this earth always wanted to get closer to heaven. With that, they would be one with the divine, and their chains, tying them to their creators would grow thinner than ever. Flying, I guess, is one way of doing that, cause then, heavens are right within our grasp. Or are they? Still, more often than not, it seems that we will never get there. Not that we don't want to. It's because we don't know how. The thing is, as much as we want to fly, there is always something that pulls us back to the ground. A strange force of nature, a shadow, something, but what is it, what is the reason for our souls being trapped, legs tied and arms raised towards the thing that we desire the most? Is it our roots? Perhaps. Our sins? Maybe. Our unfulfilled wishes? Who knows. It might be anything. Some unfinished business? A misdeed. A misspoken word. A misplaced blame. An unsaid "I am sorry". An unsaid "I love you". A song unsung. Or maybe... just maybe... a story untold."
"Much, much better", Greg thought to himself.
"Why do I feel so cold?", he wondered. "Maybe it is because I'm tired. Yes it has to be that. I am just tired", he thought, while the plane slowly vanished out of existence, and all that was left was a cold, dark, silent sky, pierced by the bright light of the pale blue moon.
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