MH17 is re-hit in the afterlife

Courtesy www.malaymail.com

I was hit.  I wish I was a hit but no, I was hit.  For me at death-point or hit-point if you prefer who hit, how and why are irrelevant.    I was no misfit by any stretch of the imagination. I had some skies yet to fly, some miles to clock and some more perfect landings to make.  Some say I was hit and other claim I was mis-hit.  Either way, I went.  I took off in ways I never had before.  I flew into the afterlife even though I was broken, my wings clipped in ways no flying creature has ever been dismembered, and my engines scattered over a field I had never dreamed of and never imagined I would visit and certainly not in the way I eventually did. 

This is MH17 speaking, folks.  MH17 in the afterlife of a rude subversion of flight path and wrecking of all the to-do plans associated with destination.  And here, free-floating in the after-flight sans control towers, auto-pilots, visas, baggage claims and the usual complement of irritable, egotistical, self-righteous and insufferable passengers, much higher than engine and fuel could ever have taken me, I see things I’ve never seen before.

I see a crash site and that’s disturbing.  It’s no fun even in the intact and integrity of afterlife to see people gathered around supposedly to mourn but accompanied by some intent on turning carcass into political capital.  I’ve found that I can hear better right where I am, up where I (now) belong and all that kind of thing. 

I hear people screaming.  It would have been okay if the screams were coming from those who lost their near and dear, my co-dead who are now in their respective afterlives.  That’s legit, after all.  But no, the screams are emanating from the rear ends (it seems to me) of those really don’t give a damn about death and destruction (never mind the afterlife which they, at some point, must inhabit).  

As far as I can see (and trust me, I can see far, so far, further than any of these ‘omniscients’ with their pretentious punditry!) I have been turned into a pawn (how puny!) and so too all those who flew with me and re-flew in after death painlessness.  We are pawns of people trying to prove a pointless point; pointless to me, my fellow-dead and those who cared about all of us. It’s all about who did what and why. 

It’s getting crowded up here you know, with all the theories that have been floated since someone broke my heart and the hearts of others.  I always knew that reason, logic, pursuit of truth and such were never the strong point of those spoiling for a fight.  After all I know all about non-existent weapons of mass destruction and flimsy excuses to declare war on people who have done you no wrong but could be sitting on a lot of wealth.  ‘Shift their whatnots – get at the booty’ is an ancient story, we all know that.

What gets my afterlife gut, however, is the sheer inability of these folks to understand the term ‘sense of proportion’.  Here they talk in somber tone about who did what and when to create what conditions for which set of idiots to shoot me down for this, that and the other reason.  There should be independent investigations, some say, and I wonder if they know what the word ‘independence’ means because from up here I can see clearly that there’s no one who is not a stakeholder in the politics of preferred outcomes.  They are talking of sanction.   That too I can hear.  

But while all this noise is being made and while some nutcase residenced by some monumental mistake in a place called Geneva passes judgment in helluva-how-do-you-do mode, I can see bombs flying from a place some people were hoodwinked into believing was promised to them and right into hundreds of families so body parts fly in all direction as people who used to be people are made to swell the numbers of my newly found community, the after-dead. 

And they are talking about a black box.  About made-up tapes.   Assassination attempts.  Blame games. Sanctions.  Oh, the self-righteousness bugs the hell out of my afterlife senses.  Aren’t these the very dudes whose been making a killing, pardon the pun, in selling weapons of all kinds, including those capable of mass destruction?

Hey! What was that?  Whatever it was, it almost scorched off the end of my afterlife tail!  Did I float too far South and too low?  Can’t an airplane body have a peaceful and stress-free after life?  Whatever happened to rest-in-peace?  Damn it, it’s getting hot up here.  Must be the fires in Gaza.