We had planned our honeymoon for so long that when it finally happened, it felt bittersweet. The packing, the waiting at the airport, the boarding of the plane. We were excited, but also ready to relax and ready for the planning to stop. We needed a break from the stress of it all, and, looking back, I wonder if that’s why it happened the way it did. If we manifested it for ourselves in some way.

The plane went down, and not where we were supposed to land. Over forest in some country I had never heard of, once they released the official reports. But the first night was the worst. The first night still haunts me when I try to sleep. Our marriage didn’t last, but I can only imagine that it haunts him, too.

Immediately, there was panic. There were some survivors, but not all. Some people were trapped in their seats and some were desperately trying to call for help. No phones had a signal. We were alone with no way to tell where we were or what time it was. The wrecked plane provided no shelter, so some of us started walking in search of something better, something more put together.

We stumbled upon three men seated around a campfire. Before one of us called for help, our voices were silenced by the scene: they were gnawing on human limbs. We were on an island with cannibals.

Soon, the darkness shrouded us, hiding us from the hungry gazes of our predators.