I wrote this Saturday night. In this post are many many pictures. In this post are many feelings I tried to express, and failed at. So yes, this is a few days old, but I wrote this Saturday. I just didn't post it because I wanted to put pictures with my words. Do not read any farther than the text if you do not want to see a plane crash, and don't read too far if you don't want to read about it, either.
Well.
They used to at least.
The two planes did several stunts, then went up to do a loop apart from each other I guess, which brought them close to the ground. I'm here like a Japanese tourist, taking a million pictures of everything I see. This one plane is doing a cool corkscrew maneuver, and as I looked through the viewfinder of the camera, I blinked, and pulled away to see what the heck was going on with my own eyes, and I wish I didn't. Through the camera it had appeared that this guy was coming too low to get out of the loop. So as I looked away from the camera and watched, time seemed to basically stop.
And I couldn't help but stare, helplessly, in a time warp where time simply wouldn't move fast enough to get it over with or slow enough to help the guy out.
There was no 'boom', like they have in the movies. There wasn't even a 'thud' from where I was. Just a silent 'bounce... bounce... stop' to the plane amid a cloud of smoke. The crowd went from unbearably loud to unbearably... silent. The music from the show cut off. Everyone held their breath, myself included, after letting out a soft gasp of pure shock and horror. I couldn't move or look away. It seemed no one else could, either.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. They passed by like a bell tolling at midnight. Long, slow, and mournful. Then, after a slight pause from the stopped plane, it erupted into flames. Engulfed in flames. Black smoke billowing out from where the downed plane lay sitting, no sign of a moving pilot. No sign of anything other than a catastrophe; nothing than a growing death sentence as no fire trucks came into view.
It had to be at least two solid minutes before anyone arrived on scene. Even then, no one was moving fast. It was like a poorly rehearsed drill. There was no urgency in anyone's movements...
I take that back.
There was urgency in one person's movements.
The other pilot.
It was heart breaking. Even now I want to cry, it was so pitiful, so heartbreaking. The pilot circled his downed partner over, and over, and over, getting as close to the ground as he dared, just circling, waiting, watching, wishing, hoping, praying to see his friend climb out of the cockpit and say it was a joke.
He never did.
The still-flying pilot circled one last time after the firetrucks arrived, then landed a bit away, but taxied by his friend's burning plane, and you know he had to have been looking for some hope as he passed by.
I couldn't help but watch, I mean, as grutesque and horrible as it was, it intriuged me. But I was watching, this tight feeling in my heart and an empty feeling in my stomach, and a butterfly, just a typical, beautiful Monarch butterfly, fluttered in the breeze.
There still was no sound by spectators, not even sounds from the firetrucks. It was a surreal moment, seeing this burning plane, with a pilot still inside, just looking like a nasty fireball, and then to see this innocent, carefree butterfly just floating on the breeze, not a care in the world. It was such a contrast of moments. Call it a dramatic moment, but it just seemed to be that the butterfly came to take the dying man home. She disappeared into the distance, flying towards the wreckage before us; I don't know what happened to her.
The flames were doused in seconds by fire hoses. They then had to cut the man out of his plane; he was smashed in and couldn't hardly move. I heard it was 70% burns on his body and chest injuries. They didn't even have an ambulence for the longest time.
The announcers told people to turn their children away from the sight -- honestly, I'm not sure if I would have, as a parent. I'm not sure they'd understand, and even if they comprehended it, seeing something burn a quarter a mile away is not something traumatic. What's traumatic is understanding what happened, what the outcome was, and why.
A chopper came after a long while, presumably from Wright Patterson AFB, and, with IVs in his arms, was carried away to WPAFB to the medical units there.
He died on the chopper, and was officially pronounced dead at the hospital.
I am still in shock. I am horrified, I am just... in shock. I'm just sitting here blankly looking around, because I can see everything that happened from that crash over, and over, and over. And I accept that he is dead; I didn't know him, I've never seen his face. But he has been at every single show. He crashed, burned, and basically died right in front of me. I saw it. I watched it. I couldn't look away... I wouldn't look away. I needed that reality check. But I also needed a hug or something. I know these things happen, but it's not like I see people basically die in front of my eyes. It's not like I always watch the thing that killed them. Call me sheltered, but that was terrifying. I was detatched from it, but only while I watched it in real time. As it kept playing and replaying in my head, I couldn't stay detached, I couldn't maintain a blissful sense of removal from the event. Even now it seems almost more real in memory than in reality, because it seemed so impossible. But I can see it, and it won't go away. I'm not sure I completely want it to.
I'm not asking for pity or understanding or any of that. I needed to get it out of my system, I needed to cry somehow, because no one here understood why I'd lost my appitite after that, or why I was so quiet. So this is my outlet. There's no way I'd ever be able to write down everything I have to say about it. Even this doesn't even remotely describe what I felt, or what I saw, or anything. It's just a crude attempt to put thought to words.
Below this post, if you care to see, is how events unfolded, through the lens of my camera. I could either break down there, or I could record it all through film. I chose the latter. I took over 200 pictures, of the show, the crash, the fire, the fire being put out, the helicopter, and the leaving of the copter. I have attached only a few that I took. Here is probably several thousand words that I cannot even fathom, placed in the following pictures.
Goodnight.
CAUTION: Crash pictures follow
