"Order for Miyazaki!"
"Thank you," as he picked up his coffee.
"Enjoy your drink sir," the server bowed. "Thank you and please come again."
"I will," said Miyazaki with a smile.
Overhead, a PA system went off, "Flights bound to Portland, USA, now boarding."
Miyazaki breathed a sigh of relief. After a stressful afternoon of packing and traveling to the airport with the fear of being late, he was glad he didn't have to wait long for his flight to take off.
He took a sip of his black coffee—hot, strong, perfectly bitter, with no sugar to soften the edge. It wasn't for everyone, but he didn't seem to mind. It suited him perfectly—quiet, steady, and not one to dress things up more than necessary.
Eventually, he made his way to the boarding gate when a call from his smartphone came up.
"Hey Hazel, how are you doing babe?"
"I've been calling you since three in the afternoon, where are you?" Asked Hazel, a mix of frustration and worry was present in her voice.
"I'm sorry babe, I should have called but I had to rush packing my things… I… uhm — overslept."
She sighed, "I should have known. Where are you right now?"
"I just made to my gate," said Miyazaki. "They're boarding right now and I just got in line."
"Good," she fell silent for a moment. "Tell the plane to hurry up. It's been months since I've left Japan— I haven't seen you in a long time."
"Yeah, I miss you too."
"Shut up."
Miyazaki found himself smiling. "Got any plans for us? Aside from making out?"
She chuckled, "Yeah, I'm still figuring out some other stuff we can do. We're gonna drive to Los Angeles, see Hollywood— I'll educate you with all the movies and anime you need to watch," said Hazel. "I know you're not into that stuff but trust me, I got a couple of movies and shows that might peak your interest."
"Sure," Miyazaki said. "Or maybe we'll just chill while watching your movies."
"Hmmm," she paused. "Maybe if you smile and ask nicely. Your resting frown face isn't that inviting."
"I'll work on it."
Their conversation lasted another minute or so when someone poked Miyazaki's shoulder from behind. He looked back and saw a short young adult with a messy hair and an unkempt baby mustache.
"Ehrm… Is this line for Boarding Group 1?"
Miyazaki glanced at the nearest monitor, it said that they were currently boarding group four. "No, I think this line is for Group 4. Group 1 is for the VIP or first class, I think that line over there is for you."
"Oh sorry," he said. "It's my first time traveling by plane. I'm not so sure what the procedure is here."
For someone whose first time it is to travel by plane, he sure is rich for picking first class, Miyazaki thought. He said his thanks and immediately went to the other line.
"Babe are you still there?"
"Yeah," said Miyazaki. "Sorry, someone asked me a question."
"That's okay, are you in the plane?""I'm close but I'm going to turn my phone off now. I'll call you as soon as I can.
"Okay, have a safe flight," Hazel said softly. "I love you."
"I love you too."
Fortunately, Miyazaki had a window seat. He loved window seats ever since he was a boy. They always brought back memories of his father, of quiet flights they spent side by side, gazing down at the world below. They never went anywhere internationally but they always looked down at the majestic view of Japan from above. Miyazaki recalled how they used to talk about how small everything looked from up there — cars like toys, cities like scattered stones in a field of grass. His father would smile and say that from above, even your biggest worries didn't seem so important anymore.
The moments leading up to the plane's departure was uneventful. Babies cried, luggage was tucked away, and flight attendants moved through their practiced routines. By the time the safety demonstration ended, Miyazaki had already finished his coffee — his third cup of the day. Still, a heavy drowsiness tugged at him. Slowly, his eyes drifted shut and sleep pulled him under, his last thoughts were of Hazel.
-------
A thunderous sound snapped Miyazaki wide awake. The low roar of the had changed — now it screamed, uneven and in pain. A thin hiss of air began to seep into the cabin. He quickly turned to the window. A column of black smoke poured from the engine closest to his side, curling like ink through the gray sky. His stomach dropped, he wanted to vomit but he swallowed hard.
The plane lurched—hard. The overhead bins rattled open, spilling bags into the aisle as passengers yelped. Oxygen masks dropped from above them, swinging wildly as the passengers scrambled to wear them.
The captain's voice burst through the plane's speakers. He shouted for everyone to remain calm and a few other things which were lost to Miyazaki's ears. Others cried out for help, their voices filled with fear. A father sobbed as he clung to his child. Somewhere behind him, someone shouted the name of his god over and over again.
Miyazaki sat frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs wanting to escape. He gripped the armrest with his hands, the vibration of the descending aircraft humming through his bones.
I don't want to die like this.
He thought it once.
Then once more.
Then again.
And again.
It became a chant.
He tried to breathe, he quickly put on his oxygen mask. He tried to relax. He tried to remember his father's words, the calm from the clouds and the feeling of not caring looking downward from the world above. But his mind would always direct him to the fall. The inevitable drop waiting below.
I'm not going to die like this.
I'm not going to die like this.
I'm not going to die like this.
The plane crashed.
-------
A sudden gust of wind blew strong enough that the sound awoke him. Slowly rising and blinking. He looked around to his surroundings gently rubbing his eyes, adjusting to the sudden burst of light when he opened his eyes. Once his vision settled, he saw a landscape of green pastures and hills laid before him while a vast sea of blue looked down on him. No clouds were present but strong gusts of wind blew all around him, making the pastures of grass sway in different directions. He saw no end to ocean of green grass and he heard no other sound except the bellowing of the wind. He realized that he was on top of a hill as well, alone.
"You're awake," a voice from behind spoke, "… good."
He turned around and a few feet away from him stood a short girl, as if she'd been waiting for him for a long time. She was dressed in a white poncho that reached her ankles. Her long black hair was tied in a ponytail. Below her burrowed eye brows her green eyes stared hard at him.
"Who are you?" he started, "Where am I?"
"I wish we had the time to just sit and talk so I could explain this all to you. But time's running out and it took me a considerable amount of energy and a few towns to get you here safely."
"A few towns-"
"Listen, head north, you'll find the ___. Look for the Taskmaster, he will help you."
"I don't-"
"Your memory of your life before will return in a day or two, maybe even earlier. For some reason I couldn't block it, someone or something was stopping me. But that shouldn't be a-"
"Can you stop for one second and tell me what's going on?"
"I can't, not now," she looked at her hands, slowly, they were becoming transparent. "If you need answers, head north and look for the Taskmaster, tell him I sent you. That will make it easier for you to survive in this world. I have prepared a path for you to return home. Make haste, I will attempt to establish contact with you again."
When she said the last word, a heavy gust of wind blew towards him making him fall to his feet. When the wind died down, he looked up to the girl, she was gone.
Silence. The winds started to blow again, this time stronger and louder than before. To the east, he saw storm clouds approaching. He didn't understand anything of what the girl said. She said his memory will come back in a few days, maybe even earlier. Perhaps that would help him understand how he ended up here. Could he trust her? What choice did he have? Storm clouds were approaching and no shelter in sight. Picking himself up, he decided to make his way north towards the endless landscape of greenery, towards the person the girl named, and perhaps, towards answers.
Six hours passed and he was still in the middle of the green sea. He was walking mindlessly, putting one foot in front of the other when he finally remembered his name. Miyazaki, Miyazaki is my name.