Sol was an air hostess. He was a passenger.
She remembered vividly how they first met. He asked for peanuts, and said she was beautiful. They chat in that tiny, cramped aisle for as long as possible before people needed to get through to the lavatory.
It was extremely unprofessional, but Sol didn't care.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and got up, taking her hand and leading her to the cabin where he'd revealed he was actually allergic to peanuts, and much more.
She was infatuated.
She remembered the alarms, unseemingly blasting from the overhead speakers as if to shame her for her actions, before she realized it was much, much more serious.
Black.
She remembered his hands under her thighs, carrying her out of the aircraft with every ounce of strength left in his frail and battered body. She remembered the metallic stench of blood.
It was merely a landing error, in which the runway was too gravelly to come to a smooth stop. He happened to be the only fatality.
And now, he's back where they met.
Above the clouds.
Sol will never forget him.
