Trip Start Apr 21, 2009
11Trip End Apr 26, 2009
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His first thought, once the shock of the cold passes, is that he's lost his pen. He's been meaning to keep a pen and notebook handy to write down those odd ideas about tambourines or morning glory or whatever before they disperse from his mind as fast as they arrived. He's actually brought a pen this trip and now it's gone.
It would be a good time to write something, not too long obviously, but a couple of snippets. He's sorry everyone's going to hear about his pancaked body, so maybe something light.
There really is so much beauty, even flapping away up here with his eyes streaming and fingers going numb. His daughter is somewhere, too. Maybe still in what's left of the plane, maybe performing her own hasty plummet. He'd like to smile at her, shrug a bit, signal 'What can you do?'
"Damn!" he thinks in a quick blast of grief. "No more time." And in the few seconds left his body and soul toss about so many recollections that he really is surprised so much has happened.. Even with the pen, even without this sudden end, he'd never have had the time or skill to jot them all down.
"I needed to be more succinct," he thinks.