Tonya M. Fleetwood

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Paper:"Survival of the Mindful"
Year in School: College Sophomore
Class: Language, Thought, & Culture
Date written: February 11, 2002

As I boarded Flight 57, I glanced around to see who my fellow passengers would be, like I always do. I was seated in the back of the plane, so I had the chance to look at everyone’s face as I walked past their aisle. There were all sorts of people on board, businessmen, children, elderly couples, et cetera. The plane took off smoothly about 15 minutes later. I noticed the plane was sort of cold, so I was glad that I had remembered to wear my heavier pea coat. I next settled into a dreamless sleep.

I was awoken by the bright light of the sun coming in through the small window. I glanced out and saw a cluster of mountains that stretched as far as the eye could see. Then it suddenly occurred to me that the plane was flying a little too close to the mountains. I became alarmed and motioned for the flight attendant. Just as she was about to ask me what I needed, there was a loud noise as one of the plane’s wings clipped the top of a mountain. From that moment on, everything is a blur. People were screaming, children were crying, and I closed my eyes hoping to awake from some horrible nightmare. Then I opened my eyes long enough to see how much altitude the plane was losing. The next thing I knew, the plane crumpled in from the opposite side I was sitting. All I could hear were screams and the sound of ripping metal. Then there was silence.

I must have lost consciousness, because when I awoke, most of the daylight was completely gone. I felt a horrible pain in my left calve. I reached down and something was sticking out of it. I looked around for help, but everyone seemed to be sleeping like I had been. I jostled the man sitting next to me, but he just lay there. Then I realized the horror that he, as well as the rest of the passengers were dead. But just then, I heard someone talking. I started to scream for help. Then I saw two men, one older in his fifties, the other younger in his late twenties, at the far end coming to help me out. They took me outside, and then they went back in to see if any more were alive. They came out holding a child. She was about nine. A few minutes later they were helping an elderly woman out of the small opening. That was all that had survived.

After tending to my wounded leg, we brought out as many suitcases as we could find. Then we just waited. It was well into the night by now, and it was getting rather cold. We bundled up in the clothes we found in the suitcases. I didn’t sleep though.

The next day we went through more suitcases, finding no food, except for the occasional ‘airplane food’, which was hardly enough to go around five people. I found my cell phone in my coat, however, there was no signal. We began to talk. The little girl, Mary, wouldn’t stop crying. She couldn’t understand why we wouldn’t go in and get her mom. I tried to explain to her the best I could between my emotional breakdowns.

There was no food and no plants. No small animals, no fish, and no birds. We hunted as much as we could, but to no avail. We thought we were going to die.

It had been six days already, and we were all so weak and hungry, especially the elderly woman, who I’d learned was named Charlotte. We had brought out most of the other passengers and laid them in a row.

Then, as we sat there together, the older man, Robert, asked the question that I will never forget. He asked us how we felt about eating the dead. I sat there feeling sick, even though the idea had already crossed my mind a million times. I had gone over the thought all of each day since the crash. I tried to reason with myself. I compared a human to other animals that we, humans, eat. We are meat; we are composed of protein and fat; we are sometimes food to other animals; why can’t we then simply be called food? I knew all of the answers, because humans talk, my mother is a human, my best friend is a human, I would never eat my mother or my best friend, the person that I would be eating would be someone’s mother or best friend. What would the person’s family think of me eating their relative? I tried to rationalize this question. That family would be glad that their relative helped me to survive. How could I look at another human being after using one for food? I couldn’t answer that question yet.

I told Robert that I would do it. It was the only way for my survival, and I had known that from the very first time the thought even crossed my mind. Charlotte said she couldn’t. She’d lived her whole life by the Lord, and she knew she didn’t have much of her life left anyways. Mary said that she didn’t want to eat her mommy, and then she started to cry again. The younger man, Ryan, said that he would. Robert was very strong willed. He agreed to do the ‘cutting’. I couldn’t watch, and I didn’t let Charlotte or Mary watch either. There was no way that we cook the ‘meat’, however, it wasn’t bloody like I had imagined it to be. I knew that Mary and Charlotte had to eat. I told them that Ryan and Robert were going to go hunting one last time. They didn’t actually hunt, but they went for a walk. When they returned they said that they had found a fox. Charlotte and Mary happily ate the human flesh, thinking that it was a dead fox. This made me feel happy. I knew that they would survive because I had lied to them. The relationship between language and behavior has never been more clear. I, myself, had pondered on whether I could trick myself into thinking that the human flesh was something else. I didn’t really think it was something else, but I made myself realize it was the only way to survive, and it was food that would give me nourishment and energy. Mary and Charlotte, on the other hand, may hate me for the rest of their lives if they ever figure out the truth. If they had known it was human flesh, then their attitude would have been completely different. Neither one would have eaten it, and neither one would have survived. I was worried, though, how I was going to keep lying to them about what they were eating. One fox wasn’t going to last five people very long. I didn’t have to worry for long, we were rescued the next day.

Now I’m back in the ‘civilized world’, leading my own life. All of my fellow survivors live in different places. I lied for the sake of Mary and Charlotte and said that the day before we were rescued Robert and Ryan found a fox. However, a lot of people knew that a fox would never have survived a mountain habitat. I did not deny the fact that I had eaten the dead to survive, neither did Ryan or Robert. I cannot honestly say that eating a dead human hasn’t changed me. I do think about it every time I eat any kind of meat. It just crosses my mind; I can’t help it. I know that some people judge my decision, and in turn are judging my morals at the same time. It does not faze me though. I know I did everything I could to survive, and ‘outsiders’ just cannot begin to understand. I also feel that a lot of people do understand, and it’s because of that and my own thankfulness for life that I do not consider myself as an out-cast or weird in any way. I had the chance to meet a few of the families who had lost one of their loved ones. I kept thinking in the back of my mind that maybe it was their son or daughter or mother that I consumed. However, I never mentioned it. My attitude didn’t change when I presented myself to the families. I treated them the same way I would have if I had not eaten the human flesh. The idea was always present, but the actions remained the same.

I am now more mindful when it comes to making decisions. I look at every type of outcome and consequence. My experience as a survivor is something to celebrate and be grateful for. I see myself as lucky and smart, and that is the way I present myself to other people. I do things now that I have put off in the past, and I do not dwell on the fact that I ate human flesh. If you saw me walking down the street, you wouldn’t think to yourself and say “oh my, that person has eaten the dead.” You would just see me as confident and happy. The symbols that I communicate with other people are my own, even though I might not always have complete control on the way I am perceived.



Go to Documents index Paper:"Survival of the Mindful" Year in School: College Sophomore Class: Language, Thought, & Culture Date written: February 11, 2002 As I boarded Flight 57, I glanced around to see who my fellow passengers would be, like I always do. I was seated in the back of the plane, so I had the chance to look at everyone’s face as I walked past their aisle. There were all sorts of people on board, businessmen, children, elderly couples, et cetera. The plane took off smoothly about 15 minutes later. I noticed the plane was sort of cold, so I was glad that I had remembered to wear my heavier pea coat. I next settled into a dreamless sleep. I was awoken by the bright light of the sun coming in through the small window. I glanced out and saw a cluster of mountains that stretched as far as the eye could see. Then it suddenly occurred to me that the plane was flying a little too close to the mountains. I became alarmed and motioned for the flight attendant. Just as she was about to ask me what I needed, there was a loud noise as one of the plane’s wings clipped the top of a mountain. From that moment on, everything is a blur. People were screaming, children were crying, and I closed my eyes hoping to awake from some horrible nightmare. Then I opened my eyes long enough to see how much altitude the plane was losing. The next thing I knew, the plane crumpled in from the opposite side I was sitting. All I could hear were screams and the sound of ripping metal. Then there was silence. I must have lost consciousness, because when I awoke, most of the daylight was completely gone. I felt a horrible pain in my left calve. I reached down and something was sticking out of it. I looked around for help, but everyone seemed to be sleeping like I had been. I jostled the man sitting next to me, but he just lay there. Then I realized the horror that he, as well as the rest of the passengers were dead. But just then, I heard someone talking. I started to scream for help. Then I saw two men, one older in his fifties, the other younger in his late twenties, at the far end coming to help me out. They took me outside, and then they went back in to see if any more were alive. They came out holding a child. She was about nine. A few minutes later they were helping an elderly woman out of the small opening. That was all that had survived. After tending to my wounded leg, we brought out as many suitcases as we could find. Then we just waited. It was well into the night by now, and it was getting rather cold. We bundled up in the clothes we found in the suitcases. I didn’t sleep though. The next day we went through more suitcases, finding no food, except for the occasional ‘airplane food’, which was hardly enough to go around five people. I found my cell phone in my coat, however, there was no signal. We began to talk. The little girl, Mary, wouldn’t stop crying. She couldn’t understand why we wouldn’t go in and get her mom. I tried to explain to her the best I could between my emotional breakdowns. There was no food and no plants. No small animals, no fish, and no birds. We hunted as much as we could, but to no avail. We thought we were going to die. It had been six days already, and we were all so weak and hungry, especially the elderly woman, who I’d learned was named Charlotte. We had brought out most of the other passengers and laid them in a row. Then, as we sat there together, the older man, Robert, asked the question that I will never forget. He asked us how we felt about eating the dead. I sat there feeling sick, even though the idea had already crossed my mind a million times. I had gone over the thought all of each day since the crash. I tried to reason with myself. I compared a human to other animals that we, humans, eat. We are meat; we are composed of protein and fat; we are sometimes food to other animals; why can’t we then simply be called food? I knew all of the answers, because humans talk, my mother is a human, my best friend is a human, I would never eat my mother or my best friend, the person that I would be eating would be someone’s mother or best friend. What would the person’s family think of me eating their relative? I tried to rationalize this question. That family would be glad that their relative helped me to survive. How could I look at another human being after using one for food? I couldn’t answer that question yet. I told Robert that I would do it. It was the only way for my survival, and I had known that from the very first time the thought even crossed my mind. Charlotte said she couldn’t. She’d lived her whole life by the Lord, and she knew she didn’t have much of her life left anyways. Mary said that she didn’t want to eat her mommy, and then she started to cry again. The younger man, Ryan, said that he would. Robert was very strong willed. He agreed to do the ‘cutting’. I couldn’t watch, and I didn’t let Charlotte or Mary watch either. There was no way that we cook the ‘meat’, however, it wasn’t bloody like I had imagined it to be. I knew that Mary and Charlotte had to eat. I told them that Ryan and Robert were going to go hunting one last time. They didn’t actually hunt, but they went for a walk. When they returned they said that they had found a fox. Charlotte and Mary happily ate the human flesh, thinking that it was a dead fox. This made me feel happy. I knew that they would survive because I had lied to them. The relationship between language and behavior has never been more clear. I, myself, had pondered on whether I could trick myself into thinking that the human flesh was something else. I didn’t really think it was something else, but I made myself realize it was the only way to survive, and it was food that would give me nourishment and energy. Mary and Charlotte, on the other hand, may hate me for the rest of their lives if they ever figure out the truth. If they had known it was human flesh, then their attitude would have been completely different. Neither one would have eaten it, and neither one would have survived. I was worried, though, how I was going to keep lying to them about what they were eating. One fox wasn’t going to last five people very long. I didn’t have to worry for long, we were rescued the next day. Now I’m back in the ‘civilized world’, leading my own life. All of my fellow survivors live in different places. I lied for the sake of Mary and Charlotte and said that the day before we were rescued Robert and Ryan found a fox. However, a lot of people knew that a fox would never have survived a mountain habitat. I did not deny the fact that I had eaten the dead to survive, neither did Ryan or Robert. I cannot honestly say that eating a dead human hasn’t changed me. I do think about it every time I eat any kind of meat. It just crosses my mind; I can’t help it. I know that some people judge my decision, and in turn are judging my morals at the same time. It does not faze me though. I know I did everything I could to survive, and ‘outsiders’ just cannot begin to understand. I also feel that a lot of people do understand, and it’s because of that and my own thankfulness for life that I do not consider myself as an out-cast or weird in any way. I had the chance to meet a few of the families who had lost one of their loved ones. I kept thinking in the back of my mind that maybe it was their son or daughter or mother that I consumed. However, I never mentioned it. My attitude didn’t change when I presented myself to the families. I treated them the same way I would have if I had not eaten the human flesh. The idea was always present, but the actions remained the same. I am now more mindful when it comes to making decisions. I look at every type of outcome and consequence. My experience as a survivor is something to celebrate and be grateful for. I see myself as lucky and smart, and that is the way I present myself to other people. I do things now that I have put off in the past, and I do not dwell on the fact that I ate human flesh. If you saw me walking down the street, you wouldn’t think to yourself and say “oh my, that person has eaten the dead.” You would just see me as confident and happy. The symbols that I communicate with other people are my own, even though I might not always have complete control on the way I am perceived.