The passengers were by this time well settled-in to the rhythm of the flight: most were watching movies or playing games on the inflight entertainment screens; some were probably trying to sleep or if that failed get some work done or catch up on a book. Children - getting perhaps a little bored and restless, were needing the attention of Moms and Dads. The crew went about their jobs as competently and politely as they could. They'd done this a thousand time before. Routine.
If you were in business or first, you might be up stretching your legs and enjoying a drink in the lounge. But, whether enjoying the luxury available beyond economy class, or weathering the practicalities of the cheaper seats, you were inextricably linked to your fellow travelers. Linked in your dependence on machinery continuing to defy gravity and basic nature; linked in your frail mortality; and linked in common fate marked by the trail of a rocket as it rose, unheeded, to meet you.
The rocket came without sound; without warning of any kind. One moment everything was as normal and mundane as any flight could be; the next, a sudden concussion, chaotic ripping wind, and blackness. If you managed to remain conscious it would have been for moments only, as after the heat swiftly would have come breathlessness and killing cold.
The passengers who shared a common fate over Ukraine never knew who killed them, or why. The distinction of whether the pro-Russian separatists or even Russians themselves did the deed has no power to undo it. The victim's cares have moved on, leaving their families and friends to grieve, and politicians to threaten each other and send blame flying everywhere but where it truly belongs.
There is nothing any of the living can do for those who died on that Malaysian Airlines flight, except to put an end to the fighting that put an end to them.
And, when you are taking your next flight and have settled in with a book, or a movie, or are about to drift off to sleep, stop for a quiet moment and think what it might be like if your plane was suddenly torn apart by violent men with hate and a rocket. When you do, you'll be in momentary solidarity with those who fell over Ukraine.
Remember
If you were in business or first, you might be up stretching your legs and enjoying a drink in the lounge. But, whether enjoying the luxury available beyond economy class, or weathering the practicalities of the cheaper seats, you were inextricably linked to your fellow travelers. Linked in your dependence on machinery continuing to defy gravity and basic nature; linked in your frail mortality; and linked in common fate marked by the trail of a rocket as it rose, unheeded, to meet you.
The rocket came without sound; without warning of any kind. One moment everything was as normal and mundane as any flight could be; the next, a sudden concussion, chaotic ripping wind, and blackness. If you managed to remain conscious it would have been for moments only, as after the heat swiftly would have come breathlessness and killing cold.
The passengers who shared a common fate over Ukraine never knew who killed them, or why. The distinction of whether the pro-Russian separatists or even Russians themselves did the deed has no power to undo it. The victim's cares have moved on, leaving their families and friends to grieve, and politicians to threaten each other and send blame flying everywhere but where it truly belongs.
There is nothing any of the living can do for those who died on that Malaysian Airlines flight, except to put an end to the fighting that put an end to them.
And, when you are taking your next flight and have settled in with a book, or a movie, or are about to drift off to sleep, stop for a quiet moment and think what it might be like if your plane was suddenly torn apart by violent men with hate and a rocket. When you do, you'll be in momentary solidarity with those who fell over Ukraine.
Remember
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