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The walk from the van to the hangar enticed Mohammad. The prophet scooted along, expecting an exhilarating ride in an airplane above Newark, Delaware. The New Castle Airport remained a few minutes away from Newark but provided the prophet with the chance to discover the latter. Once he received his gear and inspected it, he left it at his nametag on a table with the rest of the packs of parachutes and walked into the training room. In the eight hours of training that rattled against Mohammad’s brain like the little ball in a spray paint can, he felt fully prepared. A surge of adrenaline coursed through his system.
At the same time that Mohammad received his training, an instructor noticed the prophet’s moniker. During the time that it took for Mohammad to soak up all of the information that is required before the flight, a Marine, retired Major Baxter “BaxMax” Maxwell stopped at the local butcher to pick up some supplies. He purchased a whole slaughtered pig. He wrapped the item up in a sack and headed back to the flight deck. He ambled to Mohammad’s gear and replaced the parachute with the meat items.
Mohammad strolled out of that class with a puffed chest. He strutted to his pack and sniffed. It smelled sort of funny but he just shrugged it off as the pack must’ve been worn many times and carried with it a distinct odor of grease and blood. This last bit of information worried the prophet only slightly. He figured that the pack had just smelled from excessive wear. He stood as tall as a man with a distinct mission to prove that Allah would carry him safely to the earth after this free fall. He boarded the plane that shined with a streamlined luster. It must’ve just came off of the line and appeared as if it could hold up in air combat, although it remained a civilian plane. Regardless, the prophet hoisted himself up on the aircraft. Ever the professional, BaxMax kept a cold mouth and even icier eyes behind aviator lenses. He noticed Mohammad fidgeting and trying to adjust himself.
“You alright over there, Mo’?” BaxMax asked.
“I’m just trying to get my bearings. That’s all I need to do.”
BaxMax thought, that’s not all you’re gonna do.
At the moment for the jump Mohammad’s heart grew into a stone. His brains turned to oatmeal. His knees and legs felt like iron weights.
“This is the only time that you’ll have before you back out, Mohammad. Are you prepared for that?” The wind whipped like a lash to the back. The sun seemed to shine with a greater intensity and the world laid 14,000 feet below.
“Yes, I’m ready,” Mohammad said. He held onto the doors sides of the plane. While still sitting, he slid toward the door which seemed to beckon him to complete this jump. BaxMax smiled with luminous teeth that contrasted with the dark sunglasses that he wore on his face.
“Here you go, Mo,’” he said and pushed Mohammad out of the floating pill with wings.
Mohammad tumbled and flopped and twisted and contorted mid air. He possessed the opportunity for self preservation once the fall had reached the 5,000 feet mark. Mohammad noticed chutes opening all around him. His cord wrapped around his arm. He panicked. He didn’t know what to do. His mind vibrated with intentions on how to save his own life. With quick moves, Mohammad then untangled his arms. Out of the tailspin that he found himself in, he resumed the proper diving position. He sighed and smiled. He then reached for the cord to open the chute. The porcine object ejected from the suit like a female exotic dancer springs from a cake. Mohammad tried to pray but slammed into an open field away from the other divers who safely made it to the ground.
BaxMax walked over to Mohammad with coolness and ease. He held his helmet in his hand.
“Good riddance, prophet. It looks like you couldn’t dig the pig,” BaxMax said laughing.