My flip flops click-clacked all the way to this pier/wall thing that overlooked the water, and I just stood there, speechless. This must be what Heaven looks like. It was even more beautiful than Puerto Rico, though I'd never admit such a disgusting lie to my Boricua grandmother. She'd have my head, then we would probably eat afterward.
I stood on the coast of Heaven and looked over the water to the tall buildings behind it. What I saw looked more like something out of a Dubai travel brochure. I thought Trinidad was much smaller, shorter. ... More humble.
I noticed a group of planes flying in formation near the tall buildings. They reminded me of the Blue Angels, but I couldn't make out their color from so far away. They looked to be so close to the buildings, weaving through them. It was almost as if they knew I was coming and were performing just for me. I always loved watching planes fly.
They twisted and turn and bobbed and weaved with an ignorant hint of arrogance and an immature bit of "Nanny-nanny-boo-boo-you-can-only-ride-on-planes-and-we-can-fly-them-and-turn-the-sky-into-our-playground-ness." They flew from my left to my right before making a U-turn back through the buildings.
Then out of nowhere I notice another airplane introduce itself via the top, right corner of the sky. It didn't look like the other planes. It was a passenger plane. This plane was clearly not part of the choreography. It was flying toward me or most likely to the airport I just exited behind me.
I took out my camera for the perfect picture, the small, nimble, quick, dancing planes to the left, huge, clumsy, sluggish, aerial monstrosity on the right with the skytouchers of Trinibai as the centerpiece. As I focused on the 747 I noticed one thing, it was moving really fast for a plane that was about to land.
I managed to get a few shots, but I wasn't blown away by any of them. After looking up from my camera with hopes of getting some more shots I realized I was too late, the 747 was too close and the other planes too far for me to get the shot I wanted. By this time it was flying directly over me, but something didn't seem right. It was still going way too fast and low.
By now I knew something was wrong. I heard a voice out of nowhere, a low, unexcited, "Ayyyy." It sounded much like my mother, but I looked and saw no one near my. I was by myself.
I turned around to follow the plane as it sank. ... And sank. It was nowhere near the runway. It would soon walk on the water on its way to the beach. There were people there. The landing, for what it was, seemed flawless, one even the pilot of that recent emergency landing in New York's Hudson river where everyone survived would envy. The 747 seemed to make not even a splash. Everything appeared ok.
Then the strangest thing happened. The plane rolled onto the beach. I had no idea how this was possible. Inertia? Wouldn't the weight of the plane? ... What about the sand? ... Now was not the time to consult with my astonishingly average science IQ.
Just past the sands of the beach was an enormous plaza with a magnificent pyramid-shaped top that rested on four massive columns. Couples walked hand-in-hand; young men played soccer, and family and friends hung out here.
The plane would soon bring all of this to a screeching halt as it rolled into the lives of the unsuspecting destroying all that was irie. The plane's right wing caught one of the columns which forced the plane to catch fire and turn toward the plaza's center. The 747 wing was no match for the plaza's column. The column forced the plane into a U-turn which topped those of the dancing planes of earlier. However, much of the wing remained in the plaza, and the plane was now on its way back to the beach draped in fire. Its dance would end there.
After the initial strike of awe I did what came naturally. I grabbed my camera and pointed it at the ball of fire and smoke. After several shots, I click-clicked over to a short wall, hopped over it into some sand and headed over to Hell for a closer look.
By the time I got there all that was left was fire, plane remnants and a lot of screaming and crying. I noticed a 50-something, pale-skinned lady with short, reddish-brown hair being helped by a group of locals. Eventually, she too would crash into the sand. I wanted to help, but with all the chaos I didn't know what to do. So, once again my camera came out. I noticed a reporter screaming into a shoddy microphone connected to a video camera of even inferior craftsmanship. She didn't appear to be a professional, nether did I as was torn between documenting the goings on and lending a helping hand.
I really didn't know what I could do. The plane was on fire, and the only survivor I saw was the 50-something, pale-skinned lady with short, reddish-brown hair being helped by a group of locals.
Then I woke up.
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