The Good, The Bad, and the Volleyball

Despite the rumors, I am not a character in the previously posted Superhero story. :) Sad to say, 'tis true.

Last week, we won 1 of the 3 volleyball games we played. We played with 4 players one game, and 5 players the other two games, against 6 each game. Oddly enough, the game we won was when we had 4 players. So maybe less is more. :) We earned 4th place in the league of 8, with a final record of 10-14. Tomorrow starts the playoffs, where we play the 5th ranked team in the league. If we win (and we've beaten this team before), we will (assumably) play the top ranked team in the next round. So we'll see how that all goes.

This weekend, our Bible study group is heading up north, to near the area of Grand Marais, for a weekend at the Adventurous Christians camp. We'll do a little snowshoeing and other snow-related activities. We'll be leaving late Friday and getting back on Sunday. Should be fun.

Now on a slightly more serious note (what fun is that?). Last night at our Bible study, the topic was Why Do Bad Things Happen To Good People, which is an interesting topic and created good discussion. Weirdly though, I still have troubles talking and interjecting my thoughts into such discussions, even with people I know very well. I don't really know why. However, here are a few of my basic thoughts on the subject.

1. As humans, we tend to always focus on the negative. We always see the bad sides of a situation, and often fail to see the good sides of it. I honestly believe that God can bring good out of any bad situation, no matter what it is. It's not that God wants bad things to happen, but sometimes those bad things are used to fulfill His will in our lives. We fail to see the big picture. If someone dies earlier than expected, we look at it as a tragedy. Personally, if God's will be done through my death, then I would be happy to lay down my life for His plan. His will is greater than the number of years that I will walk this Earth.
2. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. When in high school, I read a devotional that talked about silversmiths. It referred to Malachi 3:3, which states "He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver." In the devotional, a silversmith explains his art. He says that he must hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest, in order to burn away all impurities. He says that he must keep his eyes firmly on the silver at all times, for if it was in the fire too long, it would be destroyed. When asked when he knows that the silver is done, he replied "Oh, that's easy - when I see my image in it." I believe that God puts us in certain situations - including difficult or fiery ones - in order to turn us into the people that He wants us to become. Also, the Bible says to take joy when trials and difficult times come, because God will be using them to shape us. For anyone interested, you can read the entire silversmith devotional.
   
3. It happens other ways too. Though we might not always notice it, but good things also happen to good people. Also, good things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to bad people. Basically, life is full of situations that are good and situations that are bad, and you're going to get a mix of them no matter the kind of person you are. Scripture does not say that, once we receive Christ's forgiveness, we will be living on Easy Street. We do not get an Easy Button. Well, maybe we do at some point, but we have to die and go to Heaven first.
4. God is good. He is perfect and just and He knows you better than you know yourself. God will not give us more than we can handle. He will not bend us so much that we are forced to break. I believe that those people who do break did not break because God pushed them too far, but because they underestimated God's power in their lives. Trust in God and know that, no matter how bleak the circumstances look, that everything will always end up okay. God will never forsake us.
   

Superhero

Gather 'round children, it's story time again! I just thought I'd post this short story of mine, Superhero, that I wrote at some point last year. It's definitely different that The Parachute, and is (as is true with everything I write) not perfect. It's just barely over 2000 words, and hopefully it's not completely non-sensical. I've only had like, 2 other people read it so far.

Superhero

“I am a superhero. I know it, you know it, they all know it. So let’s not beat around the bush; I am better than you in every way. It’s not just my immense ego that sets me at such a high position; I am both physically and mentally superior to you. You want proof? Oh please, just watch the news. I’m on it everyday. Phantom Saves the Day Again was yesterday’s headline in the paper. I’m the Superman of the real world, but without the kryptonite and that loser Clark Kent alter ego. I am who I am, and I know it, and I am not ashamed to make sure you don’t forget it.

“I have no weakness. I am impenetrable, invulnerable, and perfect. There is no force in the universe that can stop me. I can fly and dodge bullets (not that they’d hurt me anyway). I can bend my body to fit where I need to go, and I can become what I want to become. I can see anywhere, through anything. I am the culmination of all the superheroes in all the comic books and movies you’ve ever read and seen, but I am one person. I am the ultimate; I am second to none. All other superheroes are sub-par and would only get in my way.

“Criminals fear me, for they know that once they see me, they have no chance of escape. Even the worst of the crime lords beg before me for mercy, as it is not always granted. I am free to take their fate into my own hands, for no force in the world could punish me, were they to disagree with my decisions on mercy. I am a force unto myself.

“I have caught fugitives and saved people from burning buildings. I have stopped natural disasters. I have proven myself as the invincible warrior. I am the envy of those men who know they can never be as tough and strong as I am. No weapon in the world can pierce me or bring me down.

“Do you think of me as self-centered or pig-headed? I would certainly hope so, and you would be too if you were gifted as I am. There’s a difference between being me and prancing around in both a pigheaded and confused state. I am not confused about who I am or what I do. My imagination has not taken control and deceived me into believing that I am something I am not. If you were to boast about your supernatural abilities, you would be laughed at, because you, in fact, have no supernatural abilities. When I boast about these abilities, however, I bring awe to those who hear me, because I then prove these abilities.”

He signed, Phantom, then put down his pen and stretched out his arms. His walls, ceilings, and floors were all covered with pictures of other superheroes and comic book characters, some of which he had drawn himself. He sat on a chair in the middle of an empty room, talking to nobody.

“What poor fools shall I save today? Once more, they will see me as their savior, as the only thing standing between them and death. Once more, they will know the difference I make for them. And they will praise me; they will lift me up.”

His eyes darted upward.

“It is time.”

He ran forward and threw open the closet door. In front of him hung dozens of black costumes. Dressing quickly, he darted out his front door and onto the sidewalk. His costume covered every inch of his body with a nightly black; no eye, nose, or mouth holes were visible, and no seams in the fabric were noticeable. The fabric was smooth, yet not shiny or dull. He glanced across the street, smiling under his mask and waving at his neighbor, an elderly woman dressed all in white, with a pink butterfly pin in her hair. She rolled her eyes at him.

He took the letter he had written and placed it in his mailbox, raising its red flag. He then lifted off into the air, leaving smoke in his wake as he headed into the city. His eyes were fixed on a department store building nearly five miles away.

Within seconds, he smashed through the side wall of the store. There were two men standing there, both wearing all blue, one with a knife raised above the other, poised to strike. He threw down the attacker, breaking both of his legs with one swift motion. He kneeled down on one knee before the other man, staring at the floor.

“You needn’t thank me, for I am merely doing my civic duty.”

“You again?”

He looked up, and the man had an annoyed look on his face.

“I suppose you’ll never learn, will you?”

“Learn? I just saved your life!”

“Of course you did. Now go on.”

“How dare you talk to your savior like that? If it were not for me, you and this whole city would be in ruins.”

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have to clean up this mess you’ve made.”

“Mess? Your attacker?”

“Yes, of course, my attacker. Don’t you have other poor souls to save?”

“Ones that will be more grateful, I’m sure.”

And with that, he left.

Later that day, he heard a knock on his front door. He opened it to see the elderly woman who lived across the street, still dressed all in white with the pink butterfly pin in her hair. “Hi Kevin,” she said. He stared at her.

“How do you know my name?”

“Why wouldn’t I, dear?”

“I am Phantom, that’s all anyone’s ever known,” he said, scowling at her.

“Yes, that’s right, I mean, Hi Phantom.”

He sighed. “Hi. What can I do for you? Who or what needs saving?”

“Nothing needs saving,” she said. “I just brought you lunch.”

“Oh, wow, well, nobody has ever done that for me before.”

“Of course, dear. And its time we had a little chat.”

“About what?”

“Have a seat.”

The two sat down around a table, and he started on his meal – salad, mashed potatoes, Jell-O, and a piece of watermelon. He gobbled it up like it was the best meal he’d had in months.

“We want you to stop saving people, and stop acting like a superhero, Kev.”

He stared at her.

“What?”

“A lot of people complain about your… rescues.”

“Why?”

“You often seem to cause more problems than you fix.”

“But I save lives!”

“Of course you do dear, but it turns out that, well, people would prefer not having a superhero around.”

“Why not? Don’t you people see that I am out there for the greater good?”

“I know you may not understand it; you will probably never understand it. But this is the way of things. If you continue living as you do and doing what you do, you will face the consequences of your actions.”

“The consequences of my actions? Who are you, my mother?” he said, nearly pouting.

“Of course not.”

“Then what power do you have over me? No army in the world could move me.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing… Just try to restrain yourself and refrain from doing your… superhero thing. It would help us out a lot.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. But don’t come crying to me when the city goes up in flames, and the criminals take over, and no one is there to stop it.”

“Of course. Bye Kevin.”

The room was dark and lonely, without a window, and in the middle was a bed. On that bed slept a small child, a boy, approximately twelve years old. He was pale and thin, with short brown hair and a freckled face. His arms and legs were held tightly by the bed’s soft restraints. On the floor was a backpack containing stacks of black papers and a roll of electrical tape. On the walls were hung drawings of a person dressed all in a nightly black color, with a costume showing no eye holes, nose holes, mouth holes, or seams.

With a gasp, the boy awoke, trying to sit up, but was held back by the restraints. Outside the door, he heard voices.

“This one’s gone crazy. A few weeks ago he was fine, but something must have happened in that brain of his.”

The boy screamed.

“No! No! No!” he yelled, slamming his fists on the rails of the bed. The door opened, and a tall older man entered. Behind him stood at least a dozen younger looking people holding clipboards. Behind them was a man dressed in all blue, mopping the floor.

“Shhh,” he said.

“You cannot keep me here! Phantom will come and rescue me!”

“Phantom? Far as I’ve heard, this Phantom character is dead.”

“What? You cannot kill him!”

“Well, maybe not dead, but at least on vacation.”

“I believe in him, I know he will come! He will come crashing through the wall at any moment!”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” the man said, then left the room.

The boy closed his eyes. “Please, oh please God, let Phantom come.”

He opened his eyes and stared at the door. He’ll come, he thought to himself. He wouldn’t leave me here. He owes me too much.

For two hours, he intently stared at the door. His hands grasped the bedrails, seemingly ready to make an escape at a moment’s notice. His face kept the same manic expression. A shadow appeared on the door’s window. He smiled. He is here.

The door opened, and a figure appeared in the doorway, but did not turn the lights on.

“Phantom?”

“No, he is hopefully long gone by now.” The voice was not Phantom’s, but was that of a woman.

“Long gone?”

“That’s right.”

With that, the lights flicked on. Standing in the doorway was an elderly woman dressed all in white, with a pink butterfly pin in her hair. The boy stared at her.

“What have you done with Phantom?” he said, hyperventilating.

“Why do you think I’ve done anything with him?”

“I know what you told him! You didn’t want him to be a superhero anymore. You didn’t want him to save anyone anymore! You didn’t want him to matter anymore!” Tears started pouring down his face.

“Calm down. News travels fast does it? I didn’t think your brain worked that quickly.”

“What?”

“Never mind, dear. You just seem to know what Phantom is thinking.”

“I always have. It’s like we’re connected. I don’t know why.”

“I know you don’t, and like I said before, you probably never will.”

“What? When did you—”

“Now lie down and relax. You know, dear, the mind can be a powerful thing. It can change our circumstances into what we want them to be. It can trick us into thinking we’re someone we’re not, off doing things we’re not actually doing. Sometimes, if you want something bad enough, it can fictionalize it out of thin air. Do you know what I mean?”

The boy stared at the ceiling, motionless.

“I think you do. Remember what you told me when you first came here? You said, that so far in your life, you’ve never made a difference. You said you wanted to mean something to someone. You wanted to matter. Its all you’ve ever wanted.”

The woman injected the boy with a sedative, and he drifted off to unconsciousness. She opened up a folder on the table, picked up one of the papers, and started reading aloud.

“Mental instability, hallucinations, overactive imagination, delusional.” She sighed. “Sounds about right.”

She leafed through the other papers in the folder, but stopped when she came to a folded up piece of notebook paper. She unfolded it and peered at it strangely, then read aloud again.

“I am a superhero. I know it, you know it, they all know it. So let’s not beat around the bush; I am better than you in every way.”

She glanced up at the boy and smiled, then walked toward the door.

“Good night, Kevin,” she said, and she left the room.

Oh So Close

Well, we played well in volleyball last night, despite losing all three games. However, the team we lost to is one of the top teams in the league, and we were close and competitive in all 3 games, so that is good. That drops our record to 9-12, but I think we're a little better than our record shows. I need to work on setting the ball to people better, as well as quite a few other things. But I think I'm doing better this season than last season. But who knows.

*GEEK ALERT*

If you don't care about blog names and computer games, this may be a good time to stop reading. :)

If you're not my relative and you're reading this on Blogspot (as opposed to the imported notes on Facebook), you may be wondering what the title of my blog means - Chromiden's Chronicles. I play a game called Everquest II, an online role-playing game similar to World of Warcraft. But worry not, I am not one of those people that play 40 hours a week. :) I hop on the game on Thursday nights to play with my two brothers and sister-in-law. I may have 3 hours of gaming time spread out during the week besides that. Anyway, my main character's name is Chromiden. If you look at the links on the side of this blog, you'll see links to my brothers' and sister-in-law's blogs, similarly named: Trillian's Tales, Ladre's Letters, and Erik's Essays. The exception here is Erik, which is the real life name of my brother, not his character name.

We have characters that we've played for just over two years. We're now creating new characters. My new character will be a warlock (damage-dealing spell caster). So I'm in the very complicated and tiring (sarcasm) process of determining what race to use and what that character's name should be. I will most likely be one of the following races: Dwarf, Gnome, Halfling, Half Elf, or High Elf. I have lists of potential names I've come up with for each character. It's very exciting.

Well, I get excited about things like this, but then again, I am a dork. Maybe next time I'll talk about something more universally interesting.

Moooooolah

Money is annoying. I don't really need or want a lot of it, but I just hate having to deal with it. It's rather obnoxious. But alas, thus is life.

Yesterday, I completed our income tax returns (two months early - much better than last year), and we're getting a decent refund (over $2500). That'll help. No big screen TV for us though, this'll go right into the bank account (and possibly a good chunk of it right into savings). We're trying to save up for future cars (so we can pay cash and take out no more loans) and a house in the next couple years. And we'd like to start paying down my student loans (I'm in debt up to my eyeballs, and a little higher). Ah, the joys.

March brings my 2-year review at FLS Connect, which is (should be) accompanied by a raise. Last year, I got a nice raise (totaling 10%), and I'm hoping this year will also be good. The goodness of this raise will determine my ambition for looking for a new job. I like my job, but it doesn't have much room for advancement. I just wish they'd pay off my student loans. :)

Anyway, tomorrow is Valentine's Day. We decided to have our Valentine's dinner tonight instead of tomorrow, as that will fit in the schedule better (we have a volleyball game tomorrow).

Possessiveness and Stuff

Well, you can all calmly slide yourselves back onto your chair. Our volleyball team won all 3 games last night, even though we were a player short. We played with 5 against a team of 6, and they actually had 8 players, so they rotated in and out. We had a couple little comebacks, coming back from 8-1 and 8-3 in the second and third games. Overall, we've won 5 out of the last 6 games, placing us nicely at .500 with a 9-9 record. Whooah.

This Mother Goose and Grimm cartoon strip is one of my favorite of all time. I have a copy of the original newspaper strip from 2001 in my cubicle. It just cracks me up. In general, my favorite comic strips are The Far Side, Dilbert, and Calvin and Hobbes, but I enjoy several, though I do not currently get the newspaper and haven't gotten into online comics. Though I should. They're great. My dad often uses comic strips in his sermons (he's a Baptist minister), and his favorite was always Calvin and Hobbes. I may amuse myself by posting other strips. I don't really know why. But it's my blog, so it's all good. :)

A Blog Entry With No Value Whatsoever

...and yet you still read it. Kinda silly, aren't ya? :)

Here's to wishing that I had Quake installed on my work computer. that being said, I do have the original Doom installed on my second computer. Ah, that brings back the memories, probably been 10 years since I played that game. And by the way, yes I actually do some real work at my job. :)

Recently, I was introduced to the game Battlefield. I haven't yet actually played it, just saw a friend demo it for me, but it looked excellent. I hope to be able to play it a little myself, both by single player and at a future LAN party (that's hooking up multiple computers together so people can play against each other for the non-geeks out there).

Tonight we continue our volleyball season. Last week, we won 2 of the 3 games we played, and should have won the last one. Each game goes to 15 points, and we won the first two games 15-3 and 15-8 I think, then lost the last one 15-12 after being down 14-4. A valiant effort and comeback, but just fell short. Our record is like 6-9 I think, but we are (in theory) getting better. I know all of you are just sitting on the edge of your seat, suspensefully waiting for tonight's results (either that or you are sitting on the edge of your seat because you have fallen asleep and started slouching), but I will post the results of the game.

I have joined a spring / summer co-ed softball league with a bunch of my friends. Should be good fun. The last couple years I played on a Men's league, but this year switched to co-ed. I thoroughly enjoy both softball and volleyball, but yet I have an impressively low amount of skill at both of them. Perhaps losing more weight and getting more in shape will help with that.

Anyway, all this typing and yet not an ounce of useful information. Ah, good times. :)

The Parachuting Colts

While the Indianapolis Colts are not my #1 favorite team, I am still rooting for them in this Sunday's Super Bowl. Head coach Tony Dungy is a committed Christian (of course, so is the Bears head coach Lovie Smith), and I think it's about darn time that Colts quarterback Peyton Manning gets a Super Bow ring.

Since I may now have a couple more readers to my always awe-inspiring blog (haha), I thought I might repost one of the short stories I've written, and invite them (but not force them) to read it. It is around 2300 words and is symbolic in a way I'm sure you'll pick up on. But only read it if you feel like it. :) I am no expert writer. If you do read it, let me know of any comments / suggestions you may have.

The Parachute

I’ve never liked to fly. I’ve always felt like my vulnerabilities were exposed when I was so high in the air. My weaknesses are laid out plain as day, and there’s nothing I can do to cover them or strengthen them. Looking out the windows, I often see miles and miles of land below, and it makes me feel insignificant. The massive piece of land I see is only a microscopic fraction of what this Earth holds, and this Earth is an even smaller fraction of the universe. All of these things become increasingly obvious to me as I get closer to the stars. Because of this, I always sit in an aisle seat.

“This plane is going down,” the passenger sitting next to me says.

“Huh?”

“This plane is going down.”

I didn’t respond. The guy was crazy. He was sitting there with a thick book on his lap and a steaming cup of coffee in his tray’s cup holder. He had a sly smile on his face, and he spoke slowly and confidently and appeared to know what I was going to say before I even started to speak.

“The end is coming soon,” he said.

I turned my head toward him and gave a weak yet annoyed smile.

“The end is coming soon,” he repeated.

“Are you trying to cause trouble?”

“The trouble has already been caused, my friend. I am only here to save those who understand.”

“Understand what?”

“That you are causing the plane to crash.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are causing the pla—“

“That’s enough for me,” I said as I stood up and made my way to an empty seat near the back of the plane.

“I had to move, the guy next to me was driving me crazy,” I explained to the woman in the seat to my left. She smiled and went back to reading her magazine. Unfortunately, my new seat was a window seat. I glanced out the window. Far below was a column of smoke hovering above a burning house. I shuddered and pulled down the window shade. I closed my eyes and breathed in, calming my roused heart.

My nose took in the scent of coffee. I turned to my left, and there was the strange man who had talked to me earlier.

“This plane is going down,” he said once more.

“How…?”

“This plane is go—“

“I got that. What’s your problem?” I snapped, getting irritated.

“I have no problem. I am neither causing the plane to crash nor will I be on it when it does.”

“What, are you special or something?”

“I have taken the necessary steps to avoid being on this plane when it does crash.”

“Oh yeah?” I said sarcastically.

“Yes,” he replied. “Do you want to know what they are?”

“Do you really think I believe you?”

“Do you?”

“Of course not.”

I turned my head back to the closed window. I wanted to punch this guy. I was at least going to tell him off.

“You know what?” I said, turning back to him. However, he was no longer there. The woman was back, and she was now peering at me like I was some kind of idiot. I sighed.

“Never mind.” I pushed my fists together, cracking all ten knuckles in one swift stroke.

It was nearly an hour into the flight when the skies started to darken. I turned on the overhead light and reached forward for a magazine. I pulled out a copy of Entertainment Weekly. I turned to the first page, and I nearly fell off my seat. There, on the inside cover, was the same strange man I had talked to earlier. His picture took up the whole left page, and he seemed to be glaring at me with the same sly smile I had seen before. On the right page, printed on a black background were large fiery red letters, spelling out “This plane is going down.”

I quickly flipped to the next page. On the left page was the same picture of the same guy, and on the right side were the same type of letters, but this time it spelled out “The end is coming soon.”

I continued to flip through the pages of the magazine. Each left page had the same picture, and each right page had a similar message, including “You are causing the plane to crash.” I screamed.

“Stewardess! Stewardess! STEWARDESS!”

I heard feet running and a woman’s voice saying “What is it, sir?”

“Look at this!”

I showed her the inside of the magazine. She blinked and scratched her head. I glanced at the magazine. There was an advertisement for a coffee company.

“But… but…”

People were staring at me. I felt my face turning red.

“Ummm… coffee. Please.”

“Sir, we don’t serve coffee.”

“What?”

“Company policy.”

“I see.”

“Would you like something else?”

“Just a cola, then.”

I sat back down and leafed through the magazine. Sure enough, the pages appeared to be the inside of a regular magazine.

“Here you are, sir,” the stewardess said as she handed me a can of cola and a glass of ice.

I smelled the aroma of coffee.

“This plane is going down.” The man had reappeared next to me.

“Back off. I don’t know who you are or what you are or what you want. Go bother someone else.”

“I have already talked to other people and—“

“Shut up and leave me alone.”

“You want to be alone?”

“Yes.”

“That is exactly what I try to prevent.”

“Uh-huh.”

The man snapped his fingers, and in his hand appeared a very small plastic airplane. He leaned over and dropped it in my cola.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He snapped his fingers again, and a small flame appeared at the bottom of the glass. It spread like the carbonated liquid was its fuel, engulfing the entire glass, and the small plastic plane, in a matter of seconds. I screamed.

“Oh, that’s alright,” the woman who was once again sitting next to me said. She reached up and hit the stewardess button. “Things like this happen all the time on airplanes.” I looked down, and the cola had been spilled all over my lap, with no remains of the flame in sight.

The stewardess arrived and rolled her eyes when she looked at me. She brought me some paper towels, and I dried myself off as much as I could.

I excused myself to go to the restroom. I stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes, talking to myself.

“Get yourself together, man. You’ve been hallucinating or something. This flight will be over soon and you’ll get to sleep in your own bed again, and all this will be over.”

I stepped out of the restroom and noticed the woman who had been sitting next to me. She had moved a few seats forward. I sighed. Can’t blame her, I thought to myself. I walked back to my seat. My side of the row had emptied.

I sat down in the aisle seat of the empty row. I closed my eyes, and in a matter of minutes, was asleep.

I looked out the window expecting to see nothing. What I actually saw was war. There were soldiers running around, tanks, and other such types of weaponry. Military planes and helicopters were flying in every direction, some crashing to the ground. A fierce firefight was happening right below us. Bullets could be heard ricocheting off the sides of the aircraft.

A missile smashed into the tail of the airplane. We started spinning, and all I could hear was screaming. We landed with a jolt, but I knew I was doomed. The plan was on fire, and the flames were spreading quickly. I had no chance to escape.

From somewhere above the plane, a liquid fell upon us and began extinguishing the fire. It was not ordinary water, but I knew the aroma. It was coffee.

I jumped out of my sleep with a gasp.

“This plane is going down.”

I stared at him for several seconds, breathing heavily.

“I know what you saw.”

“What I saw where?”

“In your sleep.”

“You know what I dream?”

“I do. This plane will suffer a similar fate.”

“How would you know all this?”

“Worry not about how I know, only what I know. And I know this plane—“

“—this plane is going down, I know.”

“Do you know that is what I was going to say, or do you know that is what is going to happen?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“So I see.”

He leaned in close to me and started to whisper.

“The pilot is dead.”’

“What?”

“The pilot is dead.”

“What?” I repeated, this time louder.

“Speak softly. Do not create an uproar, especially because you would be the target.”

I stared at him.

“Before he died, he locked the door to the cabin. No one else was in there. Now no one can get through the door. The plane is descending, and mountains are ahead. We have thirty-eight minutes.”

“We’ve got to do something.”

“We can do nothing to stop the descent. We do not have the tools to get through the door.”

“I don’t understand how this all happened.”

“Remember I told you that you are causing the plane to crash?”

I nodded.

“That is still true.”

“But how?”

“Because you cheated on your wife.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Last night, you met a woman at a bar. You took her to your hotel room and you slept with her. You decided that since you were on a business trip, no one would be hurt by what you did.”

“How…?”

“Remember, it is the what I know, not the how I know.”

“You’re right. I did do that. But how could that have anything to do with this?”

“You contracted a disease last night from your one-night lover. This rare skin disease spread throughout your body overnight. It is incredibly contagious and can be spread by contact. Including— “

“—shaking his hand.”

“Exactly.”

“But why is he dead?”

“Many different things may have been at work.”

“So I did do it,” I said, the feeling of shame weighing heavily upon me. “Through my mistake, I caused the plane to go down.”

“Exactly.”

I started to cry. “How could I have been so selfish? And so stupid! Why must I be the way I am? Why must the mistake of one condemn the rest?”

“There is still hope.”

“How?”

He cupped his hands together, and slowly a parachute appeared between them. “Wear this.”

He picked up the large thick book and opened it to a page in the middle. He appeared to write something down, then closed the book and looked at me. Smiling, he said, “You will be saved. Just never forget about the parachute. Never take it off. For if you do, that may be the moment the plane crashes.”

“What will happen to the others?”

“Everyone on this plane was given the same choice you were. Not all of them chose the same.” With that, he disappeared.

I quickly strapped the parachute on, and sat back in my seat. A feeling of safety fell over me. I no longer had worries.

“What are you doing?” A woman from behind me blurted. “Why are you wearing a parachute? What an idiot!” She started laughing, as did the other passengers in her row. I sighed. I glanced to the side and noticed a woman in her early twenties sitting in the seat across from me. She had her legs bent up in front of her with her arms around them. On her back was a parachute. I slowly made my way over to her.

She had a tear rolling down her face. She looked at me and smiled.

“I did it. I stole the pilot’s wallet. Pick-pocketed him in the airport not two hours before the flight. Kept the money and tossed everything else. I guess there was medicine in there. Turns out he had some major skin allergy that he needed that medicine for. Normally he’s okay without it for a couple days. Something else really bad must have happened too.”

“It wasn’t only you though,” a thick voice from behind us said. The large bearded man stood and turned to the side, revealing the parachute strapped to his back.

“It was all of us,” the elderly woman beside him said. “We all played a part in it. Some of us are being saved because we accepted what we had done, and we believed we could be saved.”

I started to cry, and so did the other three.

I heard a voice in my head say “It is time.” The expressions on the faces of the three others showed they also had heard it. We all stood up, as did several other parachute-bearing passengers, and instinctively formed a line to the exit row with me at the front. Suddenly the exit row door ripped itself off the hinges, flinging itself down to the rocky ground below.

A woman sitting in the exit row stood and yelled out, “What’s going on?”

“We believed.”

“Believed what?”

“That we were causing the plane to crash.”

Her eyes and mouth widened, and she stepped backwards and fell into her chair.

“The crazy man was right?!”

I nodded. “It is time,” I said, and I jumped out of the plane. After pulling the ripcord and releasing the parachute, I looked up to see several other parachutes gliding through the air. Higher above, the woman peered her head out of the exit row door, looking towards the front of the plane. She screamed.

I looked up when I heard the explosion. The plane smashed into the side of the mountain, emitting a ball of fire high into the sky. Two miles away, I landed safely on the ground, with the parachute falling behind me.