Rebecca's Personal
Photography
I have always had much appreciation and love for the arts. Ever since my eldest sister found this natural talent for art I became mesmerized by her ability. She was able to draw, paint and sculpt magnificent pieces of artwork. Seeing her talent made me think that perhaps I could create the same beautiful pieces of artwork. To my surprise, I was completely wrong. I would pick up a pencil and draw an apple that would look more like a ghost. I then tried to paint but it ended up I had more paint on my clothes than on the paper. From that point on I began to have great respect for my sister’s natural ability and began to appreciate art. I began to enjoy museum exhibits and found pleasure in watching my sister paint. Although I stopped attempting to draw and paint, I did not lose sight of the things that were beautiful. I still wanted to capture moments and create. That is where my camera came into play. Although I will never be able to draw or hold a paintbrush, I still have that eye for art and when I picked up the camera, it was natural. So, for my personal, I created this work of art, not with a pencil or a paintbrush but with a camera. If you look closely you can see pictures of famous paintings and my own photos. These pictures represent to me what secrecy is all about. All these little photos make this grand photo that I also took. For me this represents secrecy, as secrets build upon each other just as these smaller pictures build to make one larger one.
(All of the photos that are not famous paintings are by me.)
(All of the photos that are not famous paintings are by me.)
Maria's Personal
The relationship between my sister and me is very close. We tell each other all of our secrets. This allows us to know each other better than anyone else. It builds up trust between us. Through much of our research we have seen that secrets can hurt a relationship, so having no secrets in a relationship brings us very close. It makes me feel as if I always have someone to turn to with anything I want to get off of my mind. I feel this way because I know that my sister won't judge me or tell anyone else my secret. Below is a video of my sister and me through the years, as we were building our relationship to what it is today. The song in the background, Secrets by One Republic, fits because the singer is giving his secrets away, thereby releasing a burden he has been carrying, just as I relieve my secrets to my sister.
Erin's Personal
After studying aura reading I discovered the reason why most people get them: they are hoping to unlock a side of them they didn't know existed. I thought about the side to me not many see. Most people see me as a smart, happy - go - lucky girl who does well in school and is somewhat funny. Behind the blonde hair lies a cynical, purely logical mind. This side of me really only comes out when I am writing, and so for my personal I will be reading - or have read, depending on when you look at this - an exerpt from a piece that we wrote this year in 10p (one that I collaborated on with Ahmad and Gary). My secret cynical side is very apparent in this, so sorry (!) and brace yourselves.
It was an ordinary Thursday afternoon on flight 2028 when turbulence started to disrupt the peaceful trip. There were 78 passengers on this particular voyage, but only 73 would reach New York. No one can say for certain what caused the pilot to have a heart attack during the flight. Maybe it was fate trying to save him from the terror ahead that would fall upon the crew and passengers, but whatever the case may be, he was lucky to have escaped a horrifying ordeal. When the pilot died, the autopilot kicked on, and things went downhill from there.
Bahaar Pumnani was a loving father to three children and his wife of 16 years. He had worked for the same bank for nearly as long, and proven his skill and loyalty through the years. On a hot June day in Pakistan, Bahaar returned to what was left of his home. Instead of finding his wife in front of the stove over a hot meal, he found ash littering the ground. Instead of seeing his three small children, he saw fire burning the remains of his town. Bahaar went into a state of shock. This shock did not last long for it was quickly replaced with other feelings. Overwhelming anguish and despair were only outweighed by his desire to seek the truth and gain vengeance.
In the following month, Bahaar boarded flight 2028 along with the other 78 passengers en route to New York from Charleston, South Carolina. Bahaar had followed the owner of a bank, Brian Baker, who he suspected had been involved with the deaths of his family. Others of relevance on board were Hillary Scott and Emma Owlkin and her husband Gary.
Hillary was a 16 year old aspiring singer, coming back from her first gig. She was a very religious young lady, who had a ton of potential to become famous. She owed everything to her brother, the influence to most of her songs and life choices. Hillary’s brother was the person that inspired her to take music professionally. Emma was a newlywed who was on her way home from her honeymoon. She was currently working as a piano teacher at a local high school in Long Island. Ironically, Emma met her husband on a plane from her home town in Alaska on an interview for her current job. Brian was a wealthy bank owner, in Pakistan, where he had been living for the past year. Brian’s desire to see his family was enormous, so on any holiday possible he would take the 18 hour trip to visit them. He was on his way to visit them for Fourth of July, when disaster struck.
The 78 passengers all boarded the flight. Bahaar had gotten through security with a hand gun that he would soon use to take the lives of four innocent people. He had been following the bank owner from Pakistan in the hopes to get some answers from him. As they boarded the plane, Bahaar sat down in row 10, seat d, next to Emma and Gary. Across from them was Brian, the bank owner. He was sitting in his seat with his iPod blasting in his ears. Bahaar had been waiting for this moment for the past month, but he would have to be patient if he wanted to carry out his plan.
The plane took off as any regular plane departure would. Bahaar watched the pilot switch the plane into auto-pilot and just barely watched as he started to convulse. Bahaar knew that the pilot was having a heart attack, but this would only help his plan, make it easier to carry out. When Bahaar knew that the pilot was definitely dead he turned to the woman next to him and started to talk with her. She was very friendly and polite and had an ease about her that reminded him of his wife. Thus, she was to be his first victim.
“I’m sorry miss, what did you say your name was?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Emma, and yours?”
“Bahaar. So Emma, where did you grow up?”
“I grew up in Alaska, have you ever been there?”
“No, this is the first time I have been outside my country.”
“Oh, where are you from?”
“Pakistan. I’m trying to escape the heat, it’s brutal in July.”
Just then, the fasten your seat belt icon flashed and Bahaar and Emma shuffled around trying to ready themselves for a bumpy ride. A flight attendant’s voice came over the speakers and announced that they were going to experience some rocky weather, and to just sit tight until they got through it. Emma had reached over and squeezed Gary’s hand, looking confidently at her husband. Although she seemed to be a nice enough woman, the rage that Bahaar had felt for the past few weeks was starting to boil over. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he itched to reach for his gun and pull the trigger. But as he put the tray up and locked it into position, he reminded himself not to be selfish. This wasn’t for him; it was for the honor of his family.
Emma looked up and smiled at him and this reminded Bahaar of his wife on their wedding day. She was a beautiful bride, just as this woman must have been. Emma continued to get ready for the any disturbances ahead, and Bahaar decided that he would tell her about his wife before he killed her. He also was deliberating whether or not to tell her he planned on killing her, or would that just be too cruel. He looked over again at Brian as he took a sip of his soda. Just the very sight of Brian served as refreshment to Bahaar’s anger; it was his fuel for his plan. With this plan Bahaar would finally get some type of closure, a sense of peace and redemption for his family.
Bahaar took a moment to try and calm down. He tried to think of other things besides his plans. He wondered when they would realize that the pilot was dead. He wondered how they would handle it, whether they would announce it or not. He wondered whether he had had a family. After Bahaar was finished with his plan, would he rise up and rejoin his family in Heaven, or would he be judged for his actions.
A strong gust of wind hit the plane on the right wing and Bahaar’s stomach lurched. He looked around for the other two passengers he would kill. He knew that Emma would be his wife’s sacrifice, and her husband his eldest son’s. Sitting next to Brian was an elderly woman snoring. He looked behind her and saw a young girl playing air guitar on her armrest. He watched her for awhile. She was a pretty average looking girl, shoulder length brown hair and couldn’t be more that 5’2, but there was something about her that interested Bahaar. She looked up and saw Bahaar staring at her. She stared back, not backing down, so Bahaar turned and faced the seat in front of him.
She reminded him of his youngest daughter. She had always wanted to be a musician. It seemed that whenever he needed a moment to think, she would be there singing or humming something. He used to yell at her that he needed some peace and quiet every once and awhile. Instead of getting upset, she would look at him and smirk as she whistled on her way outside. She was the only one in the house that used to stand up to him like that, the only one that used to hold his gaze, just as the girl behind him had just done. Guitar had been her favorite instrument too. At that very memory, Bahaar’s heart ached. Remorse at wasting any of their precious time together made him want to double over and cry. Each person reminded him of a memory he shared with his family. Each memory brought more pain and increased his necessity for his plan to follow through. This air guitarist would be his third victim.
Brian would be saved for last. Once Bahaar knew for certain that it was Brian's bank that had funded the soldiers that destroyed his home and family, he would tell him exactly who was to blame for all this misery. He would never take these lives if it weren’t absolutely necessary. The moment he knew Brian killed his family, Bahaar would kill Emma. He would tell him that these innocent deaths were because of him and his lust for money. The last thing that Brian would feel would be the cold tip of the gun pressed up against his face. Bahaar could already imagine the red marks, from the pressure of the gun being pushed against Brian’s temple, as they would start to form. He would feel the pain that Bahaar had felt for the last four months. His last memory on Earth would be the pure agony of the deaths that he had caused.
Emma
We had been waiting in the terminal for the past two hours because our flight had been delayed. In those two hours, everyone was re-checked. Something about a tip about seeing a weapon in our flight’s gate. Luckily nothing was found and we were able to finally board. Gary had fallen asleep while I had been reading magazines. All of these celebrity weddings made our wedding look like a pauper’s wedding. We could barley afford our reception hall, and the wedding fares almost put us over the top. Luckily a lot of Gary’s relatives were unable to attend.
I have to say though; I had a fantastic time at my wedding. Everyone that needed to be there was there. I don’t regret any decisions I made - centrepieces, food, band - none of it. I wore my mother’s gown (minus the cap sleeves) and had a long beaded veil. We got married in city hall with my mother as a witness. My sister was the maid of honor and spent almost her entire month’s salary for the flight to New York from Alaska. Gary had his father as a best man and his mother and two brothers were present during the ceremony. The moment I said I do, I knew I would be taken care of for the rest of my life.
Gary was definitely the love of my life. We had met in an air terminal much like this one. Our plane had been delayed for almost 12 hours. We had been snowed in (as usual in Alaska) and they were asking passengers to help and shovel the landing strip. Gary had been sleeping just as he was now, sitting straight up in his chair, breathing lightly and every once and awhile murmuring something in his dream. A woman who would normally be taking the passengers tickets, was appalled that someone as able as this man was allowed to sleep through every one else’s hard work. She dropped her book and got out of her chair. She walked across the gate in her high heeled shoes, clicking and clacking as she walked. The woman was about to wake him up when I stepped in and stopped her.
“I’m sorry miss; I’m Mr. Brown’s nurse. Mr. Brown cannot be woken up during one of his doses.”
“Oh and why is that?”
“Well, you see, Mr. Brown has narcolepsy. He falls asleep whenever he has strong emotions. When he starts to dream, he works through all his emotional problems. He wouldn’t be of much use if you wanted him to help shovel. If he got overly frustrated with the amount of snow that they have to move, which any normal man would, he would simply fall asleep. I would think that that is less beneficial to your airline if he were to fall and perhaps hurt himself. He fell asleep from me telling him that our plane would be delayed another few hours because of the snow.”
The woman stared at me for a second, before she decided that there was no use in arguing. With a huff, she turned and went back to her counter and began reading her rather thick book.
“That was very nice of you, but you didn’t need to do that,” came a small voice from the general area of where the man was sleeping. I turned to look at him, but he still appeared to be asleep. I had just decided that I was imagining things, when he spoke again.
“Thanks, Gary Owlkin.”
“Emma Freedman,” and we had talked like that for awhile. He kept his eyes closed and just spoke out of the side of his mouth, as if he were murmuring in a dream. We had a very pleasant conversation, but I had thought nothing of him really until we were finally able to board. I sat down and we realized that we were seated next to each other. From then on, we had been inseparable. He had lightly snored just then, interrupting my thoughts of long ago. I smiled to myself, because we were inseparable enough for me to know when he was faking.
“I know your awake Gary,” I told him.
He laughed quietly, and opened his bright green eyes slightly, saying, “What gave me away?”
“You only snore when you have a cold, which I know you don’t currently have”
“I feel like I’ve been married to you for more than a week already,” he smiled at me and I knew exactly what he meant. I knew Gary more than I knew anyone else, and vice versa I’m sure.
“Now boarding flight 2028, rows 1-10,” a voice announced to us.
“That’s us,” I told Gary. We got up and collected our things. My two suitcases filled with bathing suits and summer dresses, and his filled with 15 blue shirts of various patterns. The woman working behind the ticket counter collected our tickets. She bid us welcome and called out to the next people in line with a cheerful smile. We walked down the aisle of the plane until we reached our seats; 10e and f. Gary took my suitcases and told me to slide in. I gave him a look and he smiled and nodded.
My mind was buzzing with things I had wanted to do next school year. I watched Gary lift my heavy suitcases and struggle a little to squeeze them into the overhead compartment. I was thinking about my conversation with Vice Principal Truman and the likelihood of our winter concert having a star guitarist coming to play with the band. The guitarist had had a concert here in South Carolina recently and I had heard about her through some friends. It seemed like it would be a nice change of pace, but Truman had seen it as a major waste of our school budget.
I sat down in the middle seat, and Gary took my window seat. I’m probably the only person in the world who never wants the window seat. I don’t like to think about flying and I certainly don’t like to see how high up in the air I am. The fact that an airplane even gets off the ground seems unfathomable to me. They have to be 2 tons at least and they stay up in the air without really doing anything. I try to just sit back and think about something else, Gary on the other hand might spend an entire flight just looking out the window. Opposites do attract.
A few people pass down the aisle, and then a short, Middle Eastern man walked down and lifted the smallest carry-on bag I’d ever seen. He must have been a light packer, and I laughed thinking about all the ‘necessities’ I had brought and hadn’t even touched during the honeymoon. He slid into the seat next to me and watched as all the other passengers walked down the aisle as well. We took off and that sickening feeling that I get every time I’m on a plane washed over me. Gary hummed our wedding song, and the feeling passed.
The Middle Eastern man was watching something attentively in the front of the plane. Gary was sitting looking out the window. I was staring at the seat in front of me, when the man next to me held out his hand for me to shake. I smiled, shook it, and we proceeded to have a friendly conversation. He told me his name, and that he had never been outside his country, Pakistan. We talked of trivial things until something in his expression brightened.
He tilted his head to the side and smiled, “I just realized who you remind me of, you remind me of my late wife, Husna. She was the kindest woman I ever knew.”
"I’m so sorry, how did she die?”
“My village was bombed and destroyed by soldiers. I didn’t see it coming, and I wasn’t there to protect her. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. The house was up in flames and burned to a crisp by the time I got home.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Four months ago.”
“I’m amazed you can even function, I would never get over losing Gary like that.”
“It wasn’t just my wife, it was also my three children.”
“That’s terrible! I cannot believe that that could happen to such a nice man like you.” Bahaar looked down at his lap and tears started to stream down his face. He looked guilty for some reason. At the time I thought he felt guilty for showing emotion, I had no idea he should have felt guilty.
As he pulled himself together I hummed a lullaby I had always played on the piano to my students. I felt a very strong connection to this man. I wanted him to feel better. Gary had always said I was compassionate, but I had no idea I was this compassionate. He seemed so helpless that when I felt the tip of the gun held to my chest where my heart was, I was more than stunned.
“You have the same soul as my wife, Emma. I loved my wife so much and never got to say goodbye. Don’t you see? I have to sacrifice you and your soul in honor of my wife.”
My heart was beating so fast, I thought it would surely pop out of my chest. I felt tears start to form in my eyes. They stung and I tried to put on my bravest face, when I said to him, “Do you really think that’s what Husna would want?”
He choked out a sob and I thought maybe I had struck a heart chord, that I might be spared, that is until he abruptly snapped out of his sorrow and told me, “I just know that I can never be consoled, that this is the only way for righting the wrongs that have transpired.”
My heart skipped a beat, because now he looked more determined than before and I knew that the sane Bahaar I had seen before was gone. The loss was too much for him to handle. Why did I feel bad for my soon-to-be-murderer? I pushed down my pity and my mood quickly turned from one of empathy to that of rage. “You seemed like such a good man, and I still believe that it was completely unfair what happened to you, but if you think that this is the way that you should handle it...you’re crazy.”
Why has no one noticed this gun?! What could Gary possibly being doing? Doesn’t he know my life is about to end?
“I would never kill you if I didn’t think I had to. I am a good man, I know it doesn’t seem that way now, but just know that I do care for you, Husna.”
“I am not Husna. I am Emma, and you know that this isn’t right.”
“Do not tell anyone of what has just happened,” and like that, he proceeded to strike up a conversation with the man across from our row. I felt as though I just made that whole scenario up. Did that actually just happen?
I tried to listen to their conversation but the only thing I could hear was my own heart beating hard in my chest. When I finally calmed down enough, I leaned as close to Bahaar as I dared.
“You come from Pakistan, do you not?” Bahaar asked Brian.
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I recognized your face ... I worked for your bank.”
“Oh really? Why did you leave?”
“My family was killed by soldiers hired to burn down the village. You see my village was bordering one of the biggest oil wells in Pakistan, and we had refused to move so that they could continue to drill where our houses were.”
Looking at Brian’s face turn this ashy color, I knew that he had somehow been involved in the deaths in the village, and Bahaar’s family. Bahaar nodded, having obtained his proof, and stood up, holding his gun in the air. Screams and horrified gasps could be heard throughout the plane behind our seats. People in front turned around to see what the ruckus was all about and saw the terrifying object in Bahaar’s hand.
“Now I want everyone to be quiet, QUIET! My name is Bahaar! I have lost my family because of this man’s greed,” he said pointing to Brian. “Their souls will be honored, and when I take the lives of four kindred spirits, I want to hear nothing. Do you understand? Only four people are meant to die, but I will kill anyone that tries to be a hero, that speaks, or cries.”
I had never heard anything so quiet in my whole life. Honestly, I could have heard someone unbutton their jacket. My heart started up again as Bahaar pointed the gun at me and put his hand on the trigger. I should have heard Gary getting up behind me, or saw him step in front of me just as the gun went off. But my eyes were closed and I wasn’t listening to sounds behind me, I just waited for the BANG. I heard the bang but felt nothing. And then I felt Gary’s body fall back on top of me. I opened my eyes to see my husband’s beautiful green eyes glazed over and staring straight at me. A bloody mark was in the middle of his forehead, but I couldn’t process what had just happened.
Now that I am holding him in my arms, I keep waiting for him to wake up. I keep waiting for him to be faking. I want to hear him snoring; I want to hear him mumble in his sleep. I want to hear his voice, I want to see him smirk, smile, wink. All I want is for something to break this excruciating silence. The pain I feel in my heart is unbearable. I cry out, sobbing uncontrollably, too distraught to do anything but go through the cycle of pain again and again.
I look up at Bahaar, and he looks back at me with true despair in his eyes. The only thing I’m thinking about when I lunge at Bahaar is that I love Gary so much. And than I hear a BANG.
There is more to the story, but this is the portion of it that I wrote. What happens in the end? That's going to have to remain a secret.
It was an ordinary Thursday afternoon on flight 2028 when turbulence started to disrupt the peaceful trip. There were 78 passengers on this particular voyage, but only 73 would reach New York. No one can say for certain what caused the pilot to have a heart attack during the flight. Maybe it was fate trying to save him from the terror ahead that would fall upon the crew and passengers, but whatever the case may be, he was lucky to have escaped a horrifying ordeal. When the pilot died, the autopilot kicked on, and things went downhill from there.
Bahaar Pumnani was a loving father to three children and his wife of 16 years. He had worked for the same bank for nearly as long, and proven his skill and loyalty through the years. On a hot June day in Pakistan, Bahaar returned to what was left of his home. Instead of finding his wife in front of the stove over a hot meal, he found ash littering the ground. Instead of seeing his three small children, he saw fire burning the remains of his town. Bahaar went into a state of shock. This shock did not last long for it was quickly replaced with other feelings. Overwhelming anguish and despair were only outweighed by his desire to seek the truth and gain vengeance.
In the following month, Bahaar boarded flight 2028 along with the other 78 passengers en route to New York from Charleston, South Carolina. Bahaar had followed the owner of a bank, Brian Baker, who he suspected had been involved with the deaths of his family. Others of relevance on board were Hillary Scott and Emma Owlkin and her husband Gary.
Hillary was a 16 year old aspiring singer, coming back from her first gig. She was a very religious young lady, who had a ton of potential to become famous. She owed everything to her brother, the influence to most of her songs and life choices. Hillary’s brother was the person that inspired her to take music professionally. Emma was a newlywed who was on her way home from her honeymoon. She was currently working as a piano teacher at a local high school in Long Island. Ironically, Emma met her husband on a plane from her home town in Alaska on an interview for her current job. Brian was a wealthy bank owner, in Pakistan, where he had been living for the past year. Brian’s desire to see his family was enormous, so on any holiday possible he would take the 18 hour trip to visit them. He was on his way to visit them for Fourth of July, when disaster struck.
The 78 passengers all boarded the flight. Bahaar had gotten through security with a hand gun that he would soon use to take the lives of four innocent people. He had been following the bank owner from Pakistan in the hopes to get some answers from him. As they boarded the plane, Bahaar sat down in row 10, seat d, next to Emma and Gary. Across from them was Brian, the bank owner. He was sitting in his seat with his iPod blasting in his ears. Bahaar had been waiting for this moment for the past month, but he would have to be patient if he wanted to carry out his plan.
The plane took off as any regular plane departure would. Bahaar watched the pilot switch the plane into auto-pilot and just barely watched as he started to convulse. Bahaar knew that the pilot was having a heart attack, but this would only help his plan, make it easier to carry out. When Bahaar knew that the pilot was definitely dead he turned to the woman next to him and started to talk with her. She was very friendly and polite and had an ease about her that reminded him of his wife. Thus, she was to be his first victim.
“I’m sorry miss, what did you say your name was?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Emma, and yours?”
“Bahaar. So Emma, where did you grow up?”
“I grew up in Alaska, have you ever been there?”
“No, this is the first time I have been outside my country.”
“Oh, where are you from?”
“Pakistan. I’m trying to escape the heat, it’s brutal in July.”
Just then, the fasten your seat belt icon flashed and Bahaar and Emma shuffled around trying to ready themselves for a bumpy ride. A flight attendant’s voice came over the speakers and announced that they were going to experience some rocky weather, and to just sit tight until they got through it. Emma had reached over and squeezed Gary’s hand, looking confidently at her husband. Although she seemed to be a nice enough woman, the rage that Bahaar had felt for the past few weeks was starting to boil over. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he itched to reach for his gun and pull the trigger. But as he put the tray up and locked it into position, he reminded himself not to be selfish. This wasn’t for him; it was for the honor of his family.
Emma looked up and smiled at him and this reminded Bahaar of his wife on their wedding day. She was a beautiful bride, just as this woman must have been. Emma continued to get ready for the any disturbances ahead, and Bahaar decided that he would tell her about his wife before he killed her. He also was deliberating whether or not to tell her he planned on killing her, or would that just be too cruel. He looked over again at Brian as he took a sip of his soda. Just the very sight of Brian served as refreshment to Bahaar’s anger; it was his fuel for his plan. With this plan Bahaar would finally get some type of closure, a sense of peace and redemption for his family.
Bahaar took a moment to try and calm down. He tried to think of other things besides his plans. He wondered when they would realize that the pilot was dead. He wondered how they would handle it, whether they would announce it or not. He wondered whether he had had a family. After Bahaar was finished with his plan, would he rise up and rejoin his family in Heaven, or would he be judged for his actions.
A strong gust of wind hit the plane on the right wing and Bahaar’s stomach lurched. He looked around for the other two passengers he would kill. He knew that Emma would be his wife’s sacrifice, and her husband his eldest son’s. Sitting next to Brian was an elderly woman snoring. He looked behind her and saw a young girl playing air guitar on her armrest. He watched her for awhile. She was a pretty average looking girl, shoulder length brown hair and couldn’t be more that 5’2, but there was something about her that interested Bahaar. She looked up and saw Bahaar staring at her. She stared back, not backing down, so Bahaar turned and faced the seat in front of him.
She reminded him of his youngest daughter. She had always wanted to be a musician. It seemed that whenever he needed a moment to think, she would be there singing or humming something. He used to yell at her that he needed some peace and quiet every once and awhile. Instead of getting upset, she would look at him and smirk as she whistled on her way outside. She was the only one in the house that used to stand up to him like that, the only one that used to hold his gaze, just as the girl behind him had just done. Guitar had been her favorite instrument too. At that very memory, Bahaar’s heart ached. Remorse at wasting any of their precious time together made him want to double over and cry. Each person reminded him of a memory he shared with his family. Each memory brought more pain and increased his necessity for his plan to follow through. This air guitarist would be his third victim.
Brian would be saved for last. Once Bahaar knew for certain that it was Brian's bank that had funded the soldiers that destroyed his home and family, he would tell him exactly who was to blame for all this misery. He would never take these lives if it weren’t absolutely necessary. The moment he knew Brian killed his family, Bahaar would kill Emma. He would tell him that these innocent deaths were because of him and his lust for money. The last thing that Brian would feel would be the cold tip of the gun pressed up against his face. Bahaar could already imagine the red marks, from the pressure of the gun being pushed against Brian’s temple, as they would start to form. He would feel the pain that Bahaar had felt for the last four months. His last memory on Earth would be the pure agony of the deaths that he had caused.
Emma
We had been waiting in the terminal for the past two hours because our flight had been delayed. In those two hours, everyone was re-checked. Something about a tip about seeing a weapon in our flight’s gate. Luckily nothing was found and we were able to finally board. Gary had fallen asleep while I had been reading magazines. All of these celebrity weddings made our wedding look like a pauper’s wedding. We could barley afford our reception hall, and the wedding fares almost put us over the top. Luckily a lot of Gary’s relatives were unable to attend.
I have to say though; I had a fantastic time at my wedding. Everyone that needed to be there was there. I don’t regret any decisions I made - centrepieces, food, band - none of it. I wore my mother’s gown (minus the cap sleeves) and had a long beaded veil. We got married in city hall with my mother as a witness. My sister was the maid of honor and spent almost her entire month’s salary for the flight to New York from Alaska. Gary had his father as a best man and his mother and two brothers were present during the ceremony. The moment I said I do, I knew I would be taken care of for the rest of my life.
Gary was definitely the love of my life. We had met in an air terminal much like this one. Our plane had been delayed for almost 12 hours. We had been snowed in (as usual in Alaska) and they were asking passengers to help and shovel the landing strip. Gary had been sleeping just as he was now, sitting straight up in his chair, breathing lightly and every once and awhile murmuring something in his dream. A woman who would normally be taking the passengers tickets, was appalled that someone as able as this man was allowed to sleep through every one else’s hard work. She dropped her book and got out of her chair. She walked across the gate in her high heeled shoes, clicking and clacking as she walked. The woman was about to wake him up when I stepped in and stopped her.
“I’m sorry miss; I’m Mr. Brown’s nurse. Mr. Brown cannot be woken up during one of his doses.”
“Oh and why is that?”
“Well, you see, Mr. Brown has narcolepsy. He falls asleep whenever he has strong emotions. When he starts to dream, he works through all his emotional problems. He wouldn’t be of much use if you wanted him to help shovel. If he got overly frustrated with the amount of snow that they have to move, which any normal man would, he would simply fall asleep. I would think that that is less beneficial to your airline if he were to fall and perhaps hurt himself. He fell asleep from me telling him that our plane would be delayed another few hours because of the snow.”
The woman stared at me for a second, before she decided that there was no use in arguing. With a huff, she turned and went back to her counter and began reading her rather thick book.
“That was very nice of you, but you didn’t need to do that,” came a small voice from the general area of where the man was sleeping. I turned to look at him, but he still appeared to be asleep. I had just decided that I was imagining things, when he spoke again.
“Thanks, Gary Owlkin.”
“Emma Freedman,” and we had talked like that for awhile. He kept his eyes closed and just spoke out of the side of his mouth, as if he were murmuring in a dream. We had a very pleasant conversation, but I had thought nothing of him really until we were finally able to board. I sat down and we realized that we were seated next to each other. From then on, we had been inseparable. He had lightly snored just then, interrupting my thoughts of long ago. I smiled to myself, because we were inseparable enough for me to know when he was faking.
“I know your awake Gary,” I told him.
He laughed quietly, and opened his bright green eyes slightly, saying, “What gave me away?”
“You only snore when you have a cold, which I know you don’t currently have”
“I feel like I’ve been married to you for more than a week already,” he smiled at me and I knew exactly what he meant. I knew Gary more than I knew anyone else, and vice versa I’m sure.
“Now boarding flight 2028, rows 1-10,” a voice announced to us.
“That’s us,” I told Gary. We got up and collected our things. My two suitcases filled with bathing suits and summer dresses, and his filled with 15 blue shirts of various patterns. The woman working behind the ticket counter collected our tickets. She bid us welcome and called out to the next people in line with a cheerful smile. We walked down the aisle of the plane until we reached our seats; 10e and f. Gary took my suitcases and told me to slide in. I gave him a look and he smiled and nodded.
My mind was buzzing with things I had wanted to do next school year. I watched Gary lift my heavy suitcases and struggle a little to squeeze them into the overhead compartment. I was thinking about my conversation with Vice Principal Truman and the likelihood of our winter concert having a star guitarist coming to play with the band. The guitarist had had a concert here in South Carolina recently and I had heard about her through some friends. It seemed like it would be a nice change of pace, but Truman had seen it as a major waste of our school budget.
I sat down in the middle seat, and Gary took my window seat. I’m probably the only person in the world who never wants the window seat. I don’t like to think about flying and I certainly don’t like to see how high up in the air I am. The fact that an airplane even gets off the ground seems unfathomable to me. They have to be 2 tons at least and they stay up in the air without really doing anything. I try to just sit back and think about something else, Gary on the other hand might spend an entire flight just looking out the window. Opposites do attract.
A few people pass down the aisle, and then a short, Middle Eastern man walked down and lifted the smallest carry-on bag I’d ever seen. He must have been a light packer, and I laughed thinking about all the ‘necessities’ I had brought and hadn’t even touched during the honeymoon. He slid into the seat next to me and watched as all the other passengers walked down the aisle as well. We took off and that sickening feeling that I get every time I’m on a plane washed over me. Gary hummed our wedding song, and the feeling passed.
The Middle Eastern man was watching something attentively in the front of the plane. Gary was sitting looking out the window. I was staring at the seat in front of me, when the man next to me held out his hand for me to shake. I smiled, shook it, and we proceeded to have a friendly conversation. He told me his name, and that he had never been outside his country, Pakistan. We talked of trivial things until something in his expression brightened.
He tilted his head to the side and smiled, “I just realized who you remind me of, you remind me of my late wife, Husna. She was the kindest woman I ever knew.”
"I’m so sorry, how did she die?”
“My village was bombed and destroyed by soldiers. I didn’t see it coming, and I wasn’t there to protect her. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. The house was up in flames and burned to a crisp by the time I got home.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Four months ago.”
“I’m amazed you can even function, I would never get over losing Gary like that.”
“It wasn’t just my wife, it was also my three children.”
“That’s terrible! I cannot believe that that could happen to such a nice man like you.” Bahaar looked down at his lap and tears started to stream down his face. He looked guilty for some reason. At the time I thought he felt guilty for showing emotion, I had no idea he should have felt guilty.
As he pulled himself together I hummed a lullaby I had always played on the piano to my students. I felt a very strong connection to this man. I wanted him to feel better. Gary had always said I was compassionate, but I had no idea I was this compassionate. He seemed so helpless that when I felt the tip of the gun held to my chest where my heart was, I was more than stunned.
“You have the same soul as my wife, Emma. I loved my wife so much and never got to say goodbye. Don’t you see? I have to sacrifice you and your soul in honor of my wife.”
My heart was beating so fast, I thought it would surely pop out of my chest. I felt tears start to form in my eyes. They stung and I tried to put on my bravest face, when I said to him, “Do you really think that’s what Husna would want?”
He choked out a sob and I thought maybe I had struck a heart chord, that I might be spared, that is until he abruptly snapped out of his sorrow and told me, “I just know that I can never be consoled, that this is the only way for righting the wrongs that have transpired.”
My heart skipped a beat, because now he looked more determined than before and I knew that the sane Bahaar I had seen before was gone. The loss was too much for him to handle. Why did I feel bad for my soon-to-be-murderer? I pushed down my pity and my mood quickly turned from one of empathy to that of rage. “You seemed like such a good man, and I still believe that it was completely unfair what happened to you, but if you think that this is the way that you should handle it...you’re crazy.”
Why has no one noticed this gun?! What could Gary possibly being doing? Doesn’t he know my life is about to end?
“I would never kill you if I didn’t think I had to. I am a good man, I know it doesn’t seem that way now, but just know that I do care for you, Husna.”
“I am not Husna. I am Emma, and you know that this isn’t right.”
“Do not tell anyone of what has just happened,” and like that, he proceeded to strike up a conversation with the man across from our row. I felt as though I just made that whole scenario up. Did that actually just happen?
I tried to listen to their conversation but the only thing I could hear was my own heart beating hard in my chest. When I finally calmed down enough, I leaned as close to Bahaar as I dared.
“You come from Pakistan, do you not?” Bahaar asked Brian.
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I recognized your face ... I worked for your bank.”
“Oh really? Why did you leave?”
“My family was killed by soldiers hired to burn down the village. You see my village was bordering one of the biggest oil wells in Pakistan, and we had refused to move so that they could continue to drill where our houses were.”
Looking at Brian’s face turn this ashy color, I knew that he had somehow been involved in the deaths in the village, and Bahaar’s family. Bahaar nodded, having obtained his proof, and stood up, holding his gun in the air. Screams and horrified gasps could be heard throughout the plane behind our seats. People in front turned around to see what the ruckus was all about and saw the terrifying object in Bahaar’s hand.
“Now I want everyone to be quiet, QUIET! My name is Bahaar! I have lost my family because of this man’s greed,” he said pointing to Brian. “Their souls will be honored, and when I take the lives of four kindred spirits, I want to hear nothing. Do you understand? Only four people are meant to die, but I will kill anyone that tries to be a hero, that speaks, or cries.”
I had never heard anything so quiet in my whole life. Honestly, I could have heard someone unbutton their jacket. My heart started up again as Bahaar pointed the gun at me and put his hand on the trigger. I should have heard Gary getting up behind me, or saw him step in front of me just as the gun went off. But my eyes were closed and I wasn’t listening to sounds behind me, I just waited for the BANG. I heard the bang but felt nothing. And then I felt Gary’s body fall back on top of me. I opened my eyes to see my husband’s beautiful green eyes glazed over and staring straight at me. A bloody mark was in the middle of his forehead, but I couldn’t process what had just happened.
Now that I am holding him in my arms, I keep waiting for him to wake up. I keep waiting for him to be faking. I want to hear him snoring; I want to hear him mumble in his sleep. I want to hear his voice, I want to see him smirk, smile, wink. All I want is for something to break this excruciating silence. The pain I feel in my heart is unbearable. I cry out, sobbing uncontrollably, too distraught to do anything but go through the cycle of pain again and again.
I look up at Bahaar, and he looks back at me with true despair in his eyes. The only thing I’m thinking about when I lunge at Bahaar is that I love Gary so much. And than I hear a BANG.
There is more to the story, but this is the portion of it that I wrote. What happens in the end? That's going to have to remain a secret.
