Today marks three years since the accident--
Three years since he lost control of the plane,
Losing every single life, and barely escaping death himself.
This particular evening, the wind is blowing fiercely
As he drives into the city to meet his fiancé.
It's only 6 o'clock, but the sun is nowhere to be seen;
Absolute darkness overwhelms the landscape.
He is growing tired, and pulls to a rest stop for coffee,
But it is locked. how strange, he thought to himself.
He hears the voices of others, but no one is in sight.
The voices crescendo from whispers to blood curdling screams
As he makes his way back to the car.
Suddenly, he feels a distinct hand on his shoulder,
And another firmly cutting off his airways.
A blinding light illuminates everything,
Revealing, in the window, the hand to be his own.