Ever since Hermann had been little, he had dreamed of flying. The answer to what he wanted to be when he grew up was always 'a pilot'. As a little boy his room had been filled with posters of fighter jets and model airplanes. High places were his sanctuary and he would often close his eyes and imagine that he was a bird. One day, he knew, he would fly just like a bird.
But being a pilot wasn't easy. You had to be smart to be a pilot, real smart. So Hermann studied and studied and studied. Having a brain for numbers helped, and he never failed to be at the top of his class. Flying lessons were no different. At the local academy that got every dime of his allowance money, Hermann was known as Spitfire. The instructor said he'd never known a kid with such a passion and a talent for planes.
Hermann would take the compliments pleasantly enough, but no amount of praise could compare to the joy that was being in the air. Flying was like nothing else he'd ever experienced, every bit as fantastically blissful as he thought it would be. Hermann thought that if he could, he would stay in the air forever and never come down.
Then the accident happened.
Not a plane accident, but a car accident. A car, trying to pass on the highway, ran headlong into another car, sending both vehicles spinning. The result was a four car pileup that took hours to untangle. One woman died and five people were injured.
In the midst of the chaos lay Hermann Gottlieb. He had been walking home when the collision occurred and had had the bad fortune to be alongside the first car when everything happened. He now lay pinned under half of a Fiat, which was heavier than he ever thought those little cars could be. The weight on his leg and hips was excruciating and terrifying and despite all his frantic efforts, he couldn't pull himself free.
Hermann screamed, but his voice was drowned out by the sirens. He lay on his back, panting and crying and trying to ignore the fact that he couldn't feel his toes. His brain ran stupid, useless calculations about the weight of the car and how many pounds of pressure were currently being exerted on his body and the results were not comforting.
A plane passed by overhead and Hermann followed it with his eyes. He watched for it long after it was gone, imagining that he was a bird and he was flying far away. Far, far away from the accident and the pain and the doctor saying he's lucky to still have the leg at all.
Hermann wanted to know how long it would be before he was back in the cockpit.
The doctor shook his head sadly.
And Hermann could feel his dreams, his plans, and his whole life shatter into a thousand pieces.