Anders Karlsson felt guilt as he dipped his spoon into the skull of the man from the business class section of a SAS Airlines flight between Seattle and Stockholm.
When Anders ate his brains, he felt satisfied and happy that the nutrition they provided meant that he would survive for another three, maybe four days.
But he also felt guilt.
Guilt plagued Anders Karlsson.
When he got the news his Father had died he did nothing for two days. He sat in his apartment in Seattle and watched rain run down the windows. He called his supervisor at Amazon and told them his Father had died, and they told him to take all the time he needed, as long as it was about four weeks.
Anders felt guilty that he worked for the global juggernaut of online sales that had been the reason so many local bookshops and family businesses had to close down.
He felt guilty that he had left his co-workers in the middle of an important project that would make Amazon even more money, and close down a few more family businesses.
He felt guilty that he wasn’t at home in the small town in Sweden where he grew up when his Father died.
Anders and his Father never had much of a relationship. They didn’t have much in common. His Father never could understand why Anders didn’t want to take over the plumbing business that his Father had worked so hard to build up. His Father never understood why anyone would want to live in the USA. His Father also didn’t react well when Anders told him he was gay.
They talked on the phone about nine or ten times a year. Usually about the weather in Sweden, and what was growing in his Father’s vegetable garden. The rest of the call was uncomfortable silences.
As Anders stared at the rain outside of his apartment window, he felt guilty that he didn’t fell any grief about his Father’s death. The grief he did feel was about their relationship. Could he have done more to understand his Dad? Could his Dad have done more to understand him? But now it was too late. The only thing Anders knew for certain was that he had to book a flight home.
The SAS Airline website had pictures of young people frolicking on isolated rocky beaches and enjoying the views of mist covered mountains. He wished to himself that he could experience Sweden like these frolicking, good looking, heterosexual couples, but the Sweden he was about to book and pay for was a Swedish suburban cul-de-sac full of old people that was covered in the mist of homophobia, conservatism, Fish Loaf, mashed potatoes, and well-kept roses.
That was when he decided to fly business class. A lie flat, sleep well, eat well, treat to himself, where personal space was respected and he didn’t have to talk to anyone about why he was flying home.
Although Anders had enjoyed the fact that he got to board first, watching the economy class passengers walk to the back of the plane made him feel guilty. From his roomy, reclining business class seat, numbered 3A, he watched them walk past. None of them made eye contact. They resented him and his legroom. They knew their seat numbers weren’t going to be as good as 3A. They held their heads low looking at numbers on their boarding passes. 35-60. Row numbers that meant no leg room, no personal space, and long lines for the toilet. Anders wanted to yell out “I don’t really belong here! I grew up with no money! I know what it’s like to struggle! I’m just like you! But my Father just died and I need some space because I feel shitty about the relationship we had!”
Instead, he took a sip of some pre-flight sparkling wine, selected the movies he was going watch, and looked at the in-flight menu.
Then Boobs sat next to him. Anders never knew Boob’s name because Anders never actually talked to him. Boobs sat directly opposite in 3B. He was in his 40’s but wore trainers that were much coveted by 16-year-olds. A Wang Chung tour T-Shirt that was two sizes too big hung from his thin shoulders. Anders guessed he wore a T-Shirt two sizes too big so it would hide his man boobs. It didn’t.
He was on his phone and loudly shouted trendy business words like “human and digital transformation that sustains innovation” and other things that no one understood because apart from looking good on Boobs LinkedIn profile, they actually meant nothing.
After being told it was time to turn off his phone for take-off, Boobs kept talking for a little longer, just to prove the point that no one can tell him what to do.
He loudly, and self-importantly declared “cc me on that email and I loop back to you once we’re in the air.” He then hung up his phone and checked his LinkedIn page, looking at all of the dick pics of people just like him.
It was after dinner had been cleared away and the cabin lights were being dimmed for the remainder of the flight that there was a loud bang. Anders saw Boobs fly across the cabin and get sucked into one of the Boeing 777’S windows. Boobs screamed in panic and agony, his bottom half hanging outside the plane, his front half inside, his man boobs flapping wildly from the turbulence inside the cabin.
Through the mayhem of people screaming, oxygen masks dropping, and bits of paper and rubbish flying around the cabin, Anders saw that one of planes engines had exploded and was on fire. A piece of metal pierced through the window in Business Class and created a cold icy vacuum. Boobs, because he wasn’t the sort of person who wore a seatbelt when instructed, was sucked towards the plane window. Physics had chosen him to plug the vacuum that nature so desperately abhors.
As the plane plummeted downwards towards the ground, Boob’s intestines were sucked from his body through his anus. Anders’s guilt kicked in, and he got off his seat to pull Boobs back into the plane. It was then that a drinks trolley flew towards Anders. The impact of the trolley pushed him back into the economy section where he hit his head violently on an open toilet door. He was knocked unconscious. Anders never remembered the Boeing 777 crash landing and breaking up on Gunnbjorn Fjeld, one of Greenland’s highest and most remote mountains.
When Anders woke up, he was nestled between a man and woman who were keeping him warm. They had both done a mountain survival course and knew that body warmth was the best way to fight hypothermia.
“You’re awake,” said the woman.
Anders looked at the couple who were both young and fit and very good looking. The man had a look that said ‘I spend a lot of time rock climbing and camping on my own with my dog.’ He also had a deep gash on his forehead that trickled blood which Anders found very sexy.
“Do you know where you are?” asked outdoorsy head gash man.
Anders was dazed.
“I need to get home for my Father’s funeral” was all he could remember.
The woman stroked Anders’s hair and looked at outdoor head gash man.
They didn’t know how to tell Anders that it was highly unlikely he’d make it to his Father’s funeral. They also didn’t know how to tell him that they probably wouldn’t make it off Gunnbjorn Field alive.
Anders sat up saw they were in a makeshift shelter made from the fuselage of the plane that four hours ago he was lying in, fully flat, enjoying a movie and a selection of Swedish chocolates.
One of the engines lay smoking in the distance. Bits of debris streaked the white snow black like the coat of a Dalmatian.
There were fifteen other people in the fuselage. Some were crying uncontrollably, the rest were comforting the people crying, telling the crying people lies to calm them down – “We’ll be OK” “Someone will find us.” “They’ll be looking for us right now.”
About 20 metres away the front nose of the plane stuck up at a 45-degree angle, the nose of the plane pointing towards the grey misty sky. Two men guarded the exit door near the front.
“The pilots died on impact” the woman told Anders “But there’s still five business class passengers alive in there.”
“Why aren’t they with us?” asked Anders.
“Because if things get bad, we’ll eat them” said outdoorsy head gash man.
Things did get bad. For two weeks the fifteen economy class passengers sat huddled together to keep warm. They used insulation from the rear of the fuselage, copper wire, and waterproof fabric that covered the air-conditioners of the plane to make sleeping bags.
The handsome outdoorsy head gash man now looked tired and his face looked skeletal. Everyone had lost a third of their bodyweight.
Outdoorsy head gash man declared “It is time.”
Everyone knew what he meant.
Everyone was starving.
“Maybe we should just eat the people who died in the crash?” one of the survivors suggested.
“The snow would have preserved them” another one said.
But as much as the survivors tried to talk themselves out of eating another human being, they all knew that eating a fresh live human being was preferable to eating a human being that had died two weeks ago. It seemed that in extreme circumstances, even cannibalism had a moral code.
There was discussion about who to eat first, and it was decided that they would interview the business class passengers so they could state their case as to why they should survive.
The first person they interviewed was an Advertising Agency executive who stated that they should keep him alive because advertising people could help them survive.
When they questioned him about how he would do that he said “I don’t know yet, but people in advertising are problem solvers so I could lead a think tank to brainstorm some ideas.”
They ate him first.
The handsome outdoorsy head gash man hit him over the head with a heavy piece of pipe and cracked his skull open.
Anders found watching the act of the handsome outdoorsy head gash guy bludgeon the Advertising Agency Executive both horrifying, and incredibly sexy.
The survivors took turns eating the warm brain of their sacrificial dinner.
Anders Karlsson felt guilt as he dipped his spoon into skull of the advertising guy.
When Anders ate his brains, he felt satisfied and happy that the nutrition would help him survive for another three, maybe four days.
But he also felt guilt.
He sat with outdoorsy head gash guy.
“What’s your name?” asked Anders.
“Todd” he replied.
“Do you feel guilty about doing this?” said Anders as he licked his spoon.
“Guilty? Not so much. Revolted? Probably more so.”
Anders liked Todd’s honesty.
Anders liked that Todd’s green eyes smiled even though he was facing death on a mountain in Greenland.
“I guess by eating the advertising guru’s brains we might also become problem solvers, and be able to think tank our way out of this mess,” said Todd.
Anders laughed.
Anders liked that Todd made him laugh even though he was eating another human’s brain.
Anders was falling in love with Todd.
Todd and Anders relationship grew over days.
By the time they were holding hands, they had eaten the arm of a CEO from a tech start-up.
By the time they were sharing a sleeping bag, they had eaten both arms.
When Anders opened up to Todd about the grief he felt over the relationship he had with his Father, they had started on the legs.
When they first kissed, the survivors had eaten the entire CEO, and were ready to interview their second business class meal.
Todd and Anders were chosen to retrieve another business class passenger. They held hands as they walked through heavy snow.
When they opened the heavy door at the nose of the plane, what they saw made them let go of each other’s hand.
The remaining four business class passengers were all dead. They had died of starvation. They sat in their business class seats stiff and frozen, their eyes wide open, staring blankly at their large entertainment system, that played nothing.
“Fuck” said Todd.
“You’d think, being business people, they would have eaten each other?” pondered Anders.
It was then that a rescue helicopter swooped overhead.
It had taken four weeks and six days to locate the wreckage of the SAS Flight that flew between Seattle and Stockholm.
Todd and Anders lived together happily in Seattle for the rest of their lives.
Anders left his job at Amazon and they started a local bookstore. Their books were two dollars more expensive than they were on Amazon, but people bought books from them anyway because they wanted to support local businesses.
The surviving passengers got together annually and had a vegetarian pot luck dinner.
Anders made peace with missing his Father’s funeral and eating business class passengers.
But he never told Todd, or any of the other survivors, that he boarded that flight between Seattle and Stockholm as a business class passenger, and that a food trolley had knocked him back into the economy section.
He felt guilty about that until the day he died.
