*disclaimer*
Some of the locations/ events in this story are fictional and/or do not relate to an accurate geographical depiction. Most characters (main) are based off of real persons, but this is also not intended to be entirely accurate, either, since this is a fictional story.
(1) Franks POV:
The drive from Belleville, New Jersery, to the Newark airport is a quick quarter of an hour drive using public transit. My parents are not too thrilled at the idea of me embarking on my travels alone, but I've been alive for 16 years now so a 16 minute bus ride should at least be something I have earned at this point. But i know it's more than that; im going to be crossing the ocean–practically on my own. In perfect honesty, I am not worried at all, and am actually relieved to finally take a breather from typical home-life and Hell (that is school). I'll be in Italy, soon, with the "greats" of the family. Great aunts, uncles, and probably Great dogs, even. Oh, and cousins– it's going to be amazing.
At the bus stop, my entire conscious was buried in the novel "Catcher in the Rye", which I've read once before, but figured if i have all the travel time, I could probably re-read again. I do plan to find and read some new books, too, maybe something real fuhkin classy like Moby Dick.
I hope I find some local books in Italy that I could bring back home to talk about with my grandfather, actually. He always encourages me to read more and more till' my brain explodes, and is probably the reason I invest my time to books anyway. He is also a huge reason I want to make music, too.
The bus driver must have slammed the horn to get my attention because I nearly dropped my book in shock. I had a spazm of tabbing the page, hauling bags, composing myself and pulling out my pass all the way from the bus stop to the bus that had stopped oddly far away from me. At the step of the door I pulled my dark bangs back from my face, showing the pass to the driver with flushed cheeks and a crooked smile.
"I-uh, thank you!"
The balding, sagged face driver lazily waved his hand in a gesture that probably meant, "you're welcome" so I nodded and trudged on through the bus to a seat (as a dozen weary, vacant eyes followed my moves.) It was clearly too early for the rest of the world to have a personality. Then again there is always an excuse: "too early" or "too late", to justify people's moodiness.. so really, public transport is just another cemetery I'll hold my breathe in to avoid smelling all of its bullshit.
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قصص الهواةOn a middle class flight across the North Atlantic ocean, Frank and Gerard are unaware that their plane is going to crash. Among other terrors, there are barely any survivors. They have to learn how to keep themselves alive until help finds them. On...
