All I wanted was to go on vacation with my family, our destination Fiji. The redundance of city life had worn me down-wake up, work, drink and sleep. The biting east coast winter gnawed at my spirit every time I stepped outside. We needed to break this cycle of repetitiveness; I saw it my wife's eyes the responsibilities of life weighing on her. The first few years of marriage were an adventure, hopping on a flight the first chance we got with no kids and no worries. The world was our stage. The plan was to spend two weeks in Fiji forgetting all about the mundane and reigniting a dying flame. All the PTO saved up just for this one chance to feel free. To feel...... alive again.

Getting on a plane after so many years felt thrilling, the kids were excited, my wife laying her head back with a slight smile of relief. She needed this just as much as I did. Our children have never been on a flight; they were curious about every bright light, and all the intricate movements of the plane as it took off. With each slight tilt of the plane, I was slowly lulled to sleep dreaming of the sun's warmth kissing my skin.

The last thing I remember was being woken up by the plane feeling like it was in the middle of an earthquake, as the emergency mask fell down. The pure panic and terror on everyone's face as we barreled towards the unknown. Our little family holding on to one another, praying to make it out of this. All of this chaos just because we wanted a break.

I woke up with the third of the plane still being intact with nothing but carnage around me. It looked as if a giant blew the smoke from his old Meerschaum pipe around the plane. The air was heavy with despair as I glanced around, and it was just me who survived. In a blink of an eye my family was gone. Here I stand an accursed lone survivor in the middle of the unknown.