People get on a plane, as I have a hundred times. There is a mixed sense of excitement and nervousness.

Michael Perry, in his book “population 485” quips there is something about traveling in trains and planes that feels like “playing hooky.”

I totally relate to that.

So people are on this plane in Tehran ready to play hooky for a few hours, watch a movie, maybe drink too much, or sleep.

Minutes into the flight they are shot down by a missile and everyone dies.

The end.

“Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom—
A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Swift, blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.”

~ Stephen Crane.