February 22, 2011
The flares shot high into the air; how high, I will never know, but in that moment, that fleeting second, it seemed that they flew as high as the stars. They crackled and blazed with life, gleaming sparks shooting in every direction. Their brilliance filled me with so much joy that even in my situation, I had to laugh a bit as I remembered my days as a child in Idaho on the Fourth of July. My favorite holiday. I was sucked into a dream of that fantastic place. Me and my family would sit under the trees on the edge of our farm and watch the fireworks that so dazzled me. I could remember all the little details of each and every firework. My favorite was the huge one at the end. I wanted to stay in this dreamy world forever, but I was awoken by the rescue whistle. I screamed with the full force of my lungs, yet no sound came. Neither did the rescue boat. The whole situation became much more clear. I was sitting in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with no rescue boat, no life jacket, and no one to comfort me. The flares brought little comfort now. I had to accept the fact that I would die, along with this “immortal” ship. I closed my eyes and let myself slip back to the dream. I was home again, home in Idaho on the Fourth of July with Ma and Pa and all my brothers and sisters, watching the fireworks. It was my favorite holiday.