I'd love to say that we all got off that plane alive. I'd love to tell you a fairy tale and make his memory go on forever; to keep fabricating lies of valiant adventures with him at our side.
I was yelling to him to come with me, to get off while he could. I can still remember the face he gave me. He knew. He knew that the people wouldn't survive if he came with us. I had to leave him, leave him to be consumed by the flames.
If only I had a bit more experience behind me, then I could have helped him. What kind of person does that? What kind of person gives everything to help a few people?
By now you are wondering who did this act of heroism. Who helped us all survive unscathed? You're running the names of the only people it could be, using the clues that I've littered through out my words.
But he's a hero. He will never be forgotten. He fought to save the world from Gods, only to die at the hands of man. Who am I speaking about? It's useless to hide it.
This is the final tale of Carl Miller.