Prologue
In the peaceful town of Hurmurmafershure, California, ten strangers are about to take a trip. Although their reasons are separate and diverse, they are all trying to escape something; maybe something as simple as the night before.
The pilot is young and, in the right light, a bit attractive. His face is slightly unshaven and his hair short and black. From his shoulders hang two noodles that used to have powerful muscles. However, they have lost the strength that had once captured his lover’s attention. At some point in his past, he had good intentions, but now those intentions have been replaced with a sense of self-indulgence. Most suggest that this started when he picked up the bottle and never put it down. With time in rehab, he is now three months sober and unconvincingly “happy” about this accomplishment.
The stewardess is fair and very attractive with brown hair and blonde highlights that light up her slender, smooth face. Her thin figure brought her many admirers, but she never really caught on due to her sweet and oblivious nature. Unlike the pilot, her intentions are true; however, some things don’t always go according to plan.
The co-pilot serves under the pilot, and with a quick smile does whatever his leader commands. He is similar to the stewardess in his peaceful, ignorant nature. A bit of an airhead and unaware of quickly changing relationships, this physically fit and strapping man is not desirable by the more intelligent women.
A congressman of large power is boarding the plane. This elderly man with gray, thinning hair and weak bones is seeking a vacation far from the office and the latest government shutdown. He hopes to have a good time as long as his identity isn’t revealed to resentful others.
Following the congressman into first class is a relatively famous pop star; whose name is so profane it can’t be mentioned in the presence of polite company. The latest joke concerning him is his feminine appearance, which strangely gives the entire population something to snicker about for long periods of time.
After the kid, a man who could not be identified entered. He wore a long brown trench coat, a crushed bowler’s hat, and a beard that fell over his chest. His sunglasses were reflective and had a small crack in the right lens (don’t remember that, it is not relevant to the story).
The next two to board the plane are an author and an artist. They find themselves to be natural enemies. Both are men in their mid-thirties although the artist has high praise in himself and the author is just happy that for once he can afford a first-class ticket. The artist forces himself onto the plane ahead of the author, even though the author moved to let him board first. The author’s sudden wealth and fame did not affect his kindness towards others, but instead gave him the opportunity to help him be who he was; a caring and selfless soul.
The last two passengers to enter first class are a mother of 53 and her leech of a son who is 32 but still occupies the attic of his mother’s home. Her hair is pure white and is shaped like a bee hive. Her skin is smooth and her face is sweet with her cheeks naturally blushing. Her son is taller than her by a few feet. He has a strong noble form and boy-like charm, but fails to attract any admirers. Luckily for both of them, their first-class tickets were a result of faulty over-booking.
The other passengers board by each of their accommodations; business, then coach, and so on. When everyone is settled into their seats and after they listen to the emergency procedures, it is time for the pilot to speak. However, they are not addressed by the common monotonous speech familiar from previous flights, but rather the unsettling and shaky voice of a disturbed man.
*End Prologue*
“L-listen up,” the pilot slurred, “I am NOT in a good mood. M-my wife just told me t-that she has been cheatin’ with some...with some other dude.”
The concerned congressman stopped the stewardess who was pacing nervously in the front. “What’s going on? Is he drunk?”
“I think so,” the stewardess replied softly but hesitantly.
“And guess what,” the pilot continued, “she just told me that she wants to get a divorce. A DIVORCE! She wants to leave me? I should be the one leaving her! If-if I see that guy again, I’m going to – go away man, I’m still talking! – I’m going to kill him. I’m going...to kill him!”
When the intercom squealed off, the plane swelled with panic and distress. The intercom did come back on for a brief note.
“By the way, this is your captain. We’ll be leaving soon.”
The stewardess calmed them down long enough for them to start frantically asking questions. The congressman asked why the pilot was intoxicated, whereas the pop star and artist hysterically babbled about how they were too famous to die. The son was screeching about not getting home alive and then his mother made a crack about him not going home to a woman anyway. Oddly, the stranger just remained silent. The author seemed to be the only available person of sound logic with questions that would merit the group. Instead of asking “why”, he asked “how could they make it better”.
The author rose and asked the stewardess, “Ma’am, can’t you talk some sense into him, maybe get him to calm down?”
“I’m not sure that’ll work,” she said.
“Why not?” He pressured.
Then she looked away from the author and quickly responded, “Because I’m his wife. Well, I guess ex-wife now.”
“You told him you were cheating on him just now?” the mother nagged.
“I didn’t think he’d get the text until a lot later.” The stewardess cried.
“Wait,” the author chuckled a bit, “isn’t there a co-pilot available? He can take over and we’ll be safe.”
“That’s another problem,” the stewardess chimed in. “The co-pilot can’t help us.”
“Why, is he missing?” demanded the artist.
“No, well yes actually, but you see he’s the guy I was cheating on my husband with.”
Just then, the plane plunged forward and taxied to the runway at a forceful speed; pushing everyone to the ground.
“We’re all going to die!” screamed the pop star.
At that point, the others had no choice but to agree with him and pray for a swift death. The plane took off at what seemed like destructive and incredible speed. Maybe the plane only felt faster than normal to them, but “scary as hell” was the general consensus among the first class passengers. As for the other classes; well, once the plane was in the air, it broke in half, sending the hundreds of other passengers to a fiery death. Only the front of the plane managed to crash onto a shallow coral reef near an island.
Each passenger stumbled out one by one, making sure to check that all their limbs were intact. They cried out in joy and disbelief as some kissed the ground and others threw up from the adrenaline. All were happy to be alive, but most were mainly glad that the pilot was alive so that they could kill him.
The stewardess ran to protect him from the angry travelers. She stood there and faced the mob, claiming that he was really a good man. At that moment, the co-pilot crawled onto the beach and threw himself in front of the pilot; still believing that they were friends. As the mob closed in on the flight crew, the stranger who stood a few meters from the crowd, cried out with a strong and stable voice.
“Stop!” he urged. Everybody turned to look at him. “We have landed on this island and we are stuck here, so we should get along until help comes.” The stranger talked slowly and precisely.
“What if help never comes?” shrieked the pop star.
Right after he said that, all of their American instincts set in. Food became their next immediate thought. Cannibalism was the first answer for the lazy congressman, artist, and pop star. It also crossed the minds of the pilot, son, and the stranger. Before the idea was offered, the stranger broke them into groups.
“Ladies,” he said pointing at the mother and the stewardess, “please go look for some food. Fruit or animals; anything that’s available. Next, you two,” he said pointing at the artist and author, “find a lake or stream. We need water and the ocean is not an option.” Next he pointed at the pilot and co-pilot. “You two need to settle your differences and I don’t trust you two alone, so you,” he said directing his attention to the son, “Stay with them and make the shelter.”
“Wait a minute,” interjected the congressman, “why should we listen to you? I have more power than you do.”
“How do you figure?” asked the stranger.
“Because I’m a...” The congressman looked around at the people surrounding him and was not sure how to finish that sentence. “Nevermind,” he mumbled.
“You stay here with me then,” the stranger continued. “We will create a fire for passing helicopters or ships to see.”
The congressman begrudgingly agreed to what the stranger had to say. “What about me?” asked the pop star. “What do I do?”
“Just wait here young lady, and we’ll get this all sorted out.” The stranger said, trying to console him.
“I’m not young, and I’m not a girl,” he whined. “I want to help too.”
“Sorry, young...man? How about you go with those two to look for water?”
He agreed happily, going with the artist who was almost as great as he thought he was. Although in the artist’s head, the singer was not even close to being as great as he was.
Before the mother left with the stewardess, she turned to her son and whispered to him, “Hey, I bet I can set you up with her!”
“What do you mean, ma?” the son asked while giving her a puzzled look.
“Think about it,” she said, “she got with the pilot, she was with the co-pilot, and she could be with you!”
“Don’t, don’t do it, ma.”
“Let’s go dear,” the mother cheerfully proclaimed while running towards the stewardess.
“Th-this is ridiculous,” slurred the pilot, “Why am I, being baby sat? I...am a grown man.” The co-pilot dropped some drift wood and branches that he found and tried to talk to the pilot. “I’m sorry bro-”
“I’m not your brother,” the pilot interrupted. “N-no!”
The son looked at them both with a sad expression. “What happened to you two? Why do you hate him so much?”
“Hey pally,” the pilot blurted out, “That’s between us.” The pilot pointed at himself and tried to point at the co-pilot, but instead aimed at a rock next to him. The co-pilot was kind enough to move his hand and the pilot thanked him.
“I think you two just need to talk about your...” the son leaned in really close and whispered to where they almost missed what he said. “...your feelings.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” they both exclaimed. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” the co-pilot cried, “You are a dirty, dirty boy.”
“Yeah, shame on you,” joined the pilot. “I’m not some chick who “feels” things. Even if he was still my bro, I would never talk to him about that junk.”
“What do you mean, man?” the co-pilot said a little coldly. “I thought you stopped being my bro a long time ago.”
“W-what?” the pilot asked.
“Ever since you started dating that chick, you stopped wanting to hang out with me and stuff. Then you got married and ditched me.”
“That never-” the pilot stopped talking and thought about the last time they actually were together. “It’s...it’s been years, man.” He started to become a little more sober.
“Yeah, it has,” the co-pilot glared. “But you never stopped being my bro.” His voice was breaking.
“Do you also have something to say?” the son said, trying to move along the conversation.
“I’m...sorry, man. I thought you didn’t want to be around me anymore.” The pilot was tearing up. “I miss my bro. And I promise; when we get home, we’ll go get drunk and find some bar skanks.”
“That’s all I was hoping for,” the co-pilot smiled, holding back his tears.
The son looked at the two sobbing weirdoes and told them to just hug already. They both squeezed each other tightly and didn’t let go for a long time. Maybe they were both a little tired or drunk, but the son didn’t question their emotional embrace. He just looked at them and finished building the shelter without their help.
On the other side of the island, the author, artist, and the pop star were in search of water. The artist was busy jabbering to the singer about his latest masterpiece. The pop star and the author both knew who the artist was, and they also both recognized that his art was just tasteless and bland. However, they both still listened to what he had to say.
“Oh, listen to me going on about my flawless art,” he exaggerated. “What do you think? How did my art change your life?”
“I think that-” the author was interrupted.
“I didn’t ask you!” the artist jeered, “I want the opinion of someone that actually matters. Not some lazy trashy writer.”
That was the fifth time the artist had insulted him, and finally the author had to say something. “Why are you always so mean to me? You’ve been treating me like garbage since we left the airport. I’m not offending you in any way.”
“How could you offend me?” the artist sneered.
“Forget it, just look for a lake.”
“No, I want to know. What is so bad about me?” demanded the artist. “I can’t possibly be as awful as you.”
“See, just like that!” said the author.
“Hey, hey,” the singer tried to calm them down. “You’re both professionals; can’t you both appreciate the art you make?”
“He’s just a writer, there’s nothing artistic about him,” the artist teased.
“How can you think what he makes is art?” the author questioned the singer. “I guess you’re the same way too.”
The singer was confused, but the author explained how his music used to have meaning and powerful messages, instead of the repetitious vocalization that it does now. The singer didn’t think about that until now, but since the writer brought it up, his bright expression dulled along with his self-respect.
“It’s mean to say,” said the author,” but I think I don’t like you; either of you.”
“I don’t like...your face!” the artist rebutted.
They all just stopped walking and stared at each other for a few seconds. “There is nothing good about who you are or what you do,” the author finally said.
They all just stood in silence.
Wandering through the forest, the mother was trying to convince the stewardess to give her son a chance. “So,” she said, “do have a type?”
“Type?” asked the ditsy stewardess, “Type of what?”
“Oh dear, I mean – well, my son is interested in you. Would he be the kind of guy you would like?”
The stewardess found some berries. “Do you think these are good enough to eat?” she asked the mother. The mother didn’t pay attention to the stewardess anyway.
“My son would really like to get to know you better. Why don’t you spend some time with him?”
“What about that round fruit up there?” she asked, looking into the trees.
“My son is so sweet and kind...”
“There are some snakes around here that we could catch.”
“Give him a chance.”
“We just need a net and a knife.”
“He’s not bad looking either.”
“I’m sorry,” the stewardess interjected. “But I’m not attracted to your son.”
“Why not,” the mother whined. “Give me one reason.
“I’m saying ‘no’. Let’s leave it at that; because I’m not attracted to him.”
“Give him a chance; you will learn to love him.”
“Learn to love him?” the stewardess shrieked. “I’ve had to learn to love my other fiancés and husbands, but they all left me.”
The mother thought she could use this to her advantage. “But my son is different. He’s not like those others guys.”
“Yes, he is!” her voice was louder and harsher. “They were all the same; stupid, stuck up, pathetic, whiny little mommy loving boys; and your son is no different!”
The mother just glared at her; furiously and speechless.
“I’m sorry,” the stewardess felt her heart sink. “I told you that I did not like your son. You forced me to say that.”
They also just stood in silence.
Back at the base, the congressman and the stranger were putting rocks into formation to create an S.O.S. in the sand.
“How did you get everyone to work together?” the congressman asked.
“I get people to work together for a living.” The stranger responded. “Do you not remember me, congressman?”
The stranger took off his phony disguise and faced his old friend.
“Mr. President?” the congressman gasped.
“You’ve been causing a lot of trouble lately.”
“You’re one to talk...Sir. What were you even doing on a plane to Hawaii?”
“I was going out of the country for some off-shore gambling.” The congressman gave him a stern look.
“I have a problem,” The president confessed.
“You know Mr. President,” the congressman corrected him; “Hawaii is still part of the U.S.”
“Then why did I need this passport?” he asked
“Hold onto that thought Mr. President, because I’ll tell you later what is wrong with your reasoning.”
“And what do you have to justify your actions? I have the Cabinet, researchers, and the voice of the population. You ran away because things didn’t go your way.”
The congressman admitted to bailing, but he was covering up for a greater scandal involving the first lady. The President then admitted that he too was distracting the U.S. from the C.I.A.’s latest corporate assassinations. He pretended that some distant country needed the U.S. to get involved. Both of them realized that weren’t so different after all. At the same time, the author, the artist and the singer came out of the forest, cut up and bleeding, but laughing. They had gotten into a brutal fight that had ended with their mutual hatred for Picasso, Chaucer, and Bieber. They then banded together and found a warm lake for all of them to use.
Now that the shelter was built, water was found, and the SOS signal was created, food was their last concern. Just then, the mother came out of the forest with tons of meat, berries and fruit. She said this was all because of the stewardess and her help. However, when they all sat down and started eating, her presence was questioned by her son and then the group. Where was the stewardess? The mother simply said that she just ran away. Her son did have a grave, intrusive thought.
“Mom,” he asked. “Where did you get this meat?”
“There were a lot of snakes and frogs,” she calmly told him.
“And you caught them with no net or knife when the girl disappeared?”
“Oh, I had a knife alright,” she said.
“Mom,” her son looked her right in the eye. “Are we eating the stewardess?”
The mother took a bite before responding, “So, she didn’t want to go out with you.”
“Are you just busting my chops, ma?” he asked.
“You sound crazy,” she said, picking up a piece of meat, “chops?”
They were rescued 19 days later after surviving on fruits, berries, snakes and other small animals. None of the other survivors questioned the stewardess’s disappearance. Even the pilot and co-pilot decided that her leaving was probably the best for them. Everyone went home with a new found sense of tolerance and teamwork.