We were on 45th and Rosa and I watched a plane fall from the sky like a toy from the hands of some celestial child. At first, I thought, it must be landing, and then I said, it must be landing on some rural strip somewhere we don’t know about. Somewhere miles away.
But no. It tipped its nose toward the Earth and then tumbled out of sight.
I went home and the power was out. The power was out at the neighbor’s and their neighbors’ and all the way down the street and far and away. My wife said, I wonder what caused it. I said, I don’t know. Maybe a coming storm. Things just surge and recede sometimes.
And then we heard about the crash, the source of the power outage now darkening our slice of the city. The plane was a two-seater, like a john boat on the water and the wind an angry ocean. It got caught in a strong updraft, or headwind, and the pilot lost control. He was with his wife and of course neither survived.
My wife said, How terrible. I said, At least they were together. My wife said, What a shame.
Notes from Guest Reader Kristine Ong Muslim
Out of 84 stories, this piece really stole the show. It alludes to an elaborate backstory. It also effectively shows the distancing that happens when viewing the tragedy and trauma of others.
In its third year, The March Micro Marathon will be, as usual, a prompt-a-day whirlwind for 24 days. You’ll exchange drafts of micro fiction, non-fiction, and prose poetry in small groups and gather for a series of online events (all recorded for participants unable to attend live). We’ll finish with 3 competitions, and participants who are not already in SmokeLong Fitness will be invited to workshop with SmokeLong Fitness until the end of April!