Over the holiday, I watched the movie Flight that a friend of mine illegally uploaded on YouTube. Before you go judging me for participating in illegal activities, I don’t generally condone this sort of thing. I’m also not in the business of telling a grown-ass man what he should be doing with his life. (For the record, I told him it wasn’t a good idea.)
Anyway, for those of you that haven’t seen it, allow me to spoil it for you.
Denzel Washington plays pilot Whip Whitaker, whose airliner crash lands. Due to his amazing technical ability as a pilot, he is able to ground the plane with minimal casualties to both passengers and crew. However, the following investigation into the malfunctions leading up to the crash reveals a dark secret: He was flying the plane drunk.
Actually, the whole movie is about him being drunk and doing drugs. The opening scene was Denzel Washington having sex with a chick, then snorting a line of coke. The entire movie revolves around the notion that while everyone believes he is a hero, he and a few others who are trying to cover up the incident know the truth. He ends up revealing the truth, and something he said got to me the most:
That was it. I was finished. I was done. It was as if I had reached my life long limit of lies. I could not tell one more lie. Maybe I’m a sucker. Because if I had just told one more lie…I could have walked away from all that mess.
I suppose to some degree, we all struggle with that internal conflict—how those around us perceive us, and the truth about who we really are.
Personally, I’ve kept a secret of my own for the last 18 years, and the truth is: I am a cold-blooded killer.
When I was about 9 years old, I had never seen a live baby bird before, and it just so happened that there was a nest under my neighbor’s deck. My best friend and I, we tried everything to pull the nest down gently. We just weren’t tall enough. I had the bright idea of using a stick, as if I were going to somehow gently balance this thing down to the floor, take a peek, then guide it back up again.
Yeah. That didn’t happen. I ended up tipping the nest over and all these little birds fell out. I did what any responsible 9 year-old boy would do, of course: I ran.
My neighbor was FURIOUS, and I got an earful from my parents. I’m not quite sure what happened to the birds afterward. I think I heard somewhere that even if you put them back in their nest, the mother will smell the stench of people on them and pretty much neglect them. I’m not sure, I’m too scared to look it up. So I’m assuming they died.
Strangely enough, several years later, my friends gave me the nickname Goose (which also extends to this site). This is obviously Karma’s idea of a sick joke, but perhaps it is a fitting life-long punishment for a bird-killer.
Edit: So, I was browsing Reddit today, and came across a response made by /u/DoctorPeanutHat from post titled: What is something that is bullshit, that everyone should know about?
Over 1000 comments already so probably no one will see this, but screw it.
If you touch a baby bird, its mother will not abandon it. Birds have shitty senses of smell. It won’t be all like “Oh snap, a human touched this, better push it out and let it die.”
Also, everything anybody knows about Christopher Columbus is wrong.
My only regret is all the horrible things I did for the last 18 years, thinking I was a killer. Whoops.