Deep, chocolatey brown eyes turned towards the water. Fragments of the plane floated along the surface as well as the bodies and body parts of those less fortunate. A few people had managed to drag themselves back to shore, but something kept telling Papi to look harder. Look farther. And right there, still roughly 100 meters from shore, was movement. Obviously exhausted arms were just barely breaking the surface, and water-darkened brown hair bobbed up and down with the waves. Papi looked to the sky again and started to wonder why religion was suddenly playing such a role in her life. ‘Then again,’ she supposed, ‘I did just survive a plane crash.’

Papi took her jacket and shoes off and laid them in the sand. She trotted into the water until it was up to her chest and then cupped her hands and kicked her feet, silently saying to the man above that the thing with the nun should be forgotten after this. "Hang on, lady. I’m on my way," Papi shouted, never once thinking that the woman she was trying to save couldn’t hear anything.