The Last Flight

Cradling the long, glass bottle gently in his hands, he let his feet drift against the deck floor glided down with his back leaning against a crate. The dim light emanated resonantly through a spongy pocket of air that was just enough space to in which to sit comfortably.

It was cold. As he grinned at the bottle in thinking of its warmth, he considered how the champagne would feel trickling down his throat and then warming his inside as the alcohol content spread through his arteries. He could almost imagine the cozy feeling washing away the tension as his heart took it in and passed it through his body. He read the label on the bottle, but he really didn't care.

There was some apprehension, but not what he had expected. It helped that the cargo hold was dark; that, coupled with the droning sound of engines dispelled with the quiet angst of trying to remain motionless. It was as if he had the plane to himself, and he felt so completely comforted by his decisions that the deep sorrow and pit of despair was sliding away as if it had been left at the hanger.

He chuckled to himself as he examined again the content labels on the crates around himself. It was perfect. Everything about life seemed to be present. There were boxes of produce, packages containing everyday needs, luggage, clothing, and even money. To him, the meaning was profound in that the symbolism was so ironic. The things that made life normal as he departed would surround him, and it was just as he desired. He wanted to leave quietly and anonymously so as to hide reasons and intentions from anyone that cared to know them anymore.

Shoving his thumb up underneath the now-exposed cork, he pressed hard. He was shocked that the bottle hadn't already exploded under the absence of pressure, but he was treated with the most dramatic eruption he had ever witnessed. He almost yelled with delight as the contents spewed all over everything, but he stifled his noise so as not to alert anyone to his presence. There wasn't going to be much left in the bottle, but the excitement of the moment was worth it. He took his first sip and closed his eyes to savor his comfort.

He hummed softly to himself with each ensuing sip of bubbly delight. It tasted like sweet grapes that tingled as the rolled down his throat. He was now beyond the point where things were reversible. There was something about that idea that gave his mind freedom, and his humming punctuated the music as it blended in with the droning. He had never been more at ease with his life than now. How ironic, he thought, that it would be at the point when his life was about to end that he would find such beauty and ease with his own life.

Leaving an ounce of fluid in the bottle for symbolism, he decided that the time was approaching to complete his final task at hand. Pulling his handbag out from the compartment in which he had been hiding, he withdrew from it a small remote control that featured a single button. It was simple enough, but wielded just the power he needed.

Once again, he was surprised at how little apprehension there was in the face of such a moment as this. There was no trembling in his hands as he caressed the button lightly. Some of it was due to the consumption of the alcohol - that much was given. However, most of the comfort with his situation was coming from the release of his life. He took seriously the red button, but it wasn't going to scare him. He pressed it without remorse.

The remote operated a hidden servo that unhinged and opened the plank at the rear of the plane that allowed the contents of the hold to slide out. At the last moment as he could feel the crates and containers beginning to move back, he grabbed the rope and tied one end to his ankles tightly, and the other end to the heavy steel he had found in the containers around him. He wasn't going o afford the opportunity for discovery. It was much too important to remain anonymous.

As he was pulled out of the back of the plane and scattered across the sky with the rest of the contents, he was able to survey the ocean with the sun gleaming across it for some time. There was no land in sight, and all that he could see was a vast, shining surface of bright light that he imagined would do its job quickly. He took in the shining brilliance until his last moment of consciousness, and he never felt the pain as his body wrecked at high speed into the ocean and sank into the despair that had plagued him before. The plane would have to fly on, and most of the cargo would be recovered. But, his body would rest at the bottom of the ocean, and no one would ever tread upon the true nature of the incident or upon the grave he had made for himself.