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What innocent-seeming picture is actually heartbreaking?

The next time you go air traveling, remember that this actually happened! Though, the chances of this happening may be lower today…Look at this image! Looks normal, no? It’s a bunch of people in a small old aircraft. They look happy and you can tell, they’re excited to go off on a vacation. One of them is even wrapping their arm around another guy’s neck!You know, I’d say, this is the type of aircraft I’d like to be aboard on; it’s overflowing with happiness and excitement! However, this will be the last image when all of them are happy, together, some of them won’t be alive after this.This was the last image of the ill-fated Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 traveling from Montevideo, Uruguay to Santiago, Chile. The passengers on this aircraft were the team members of the Old Christians Club rugby union, along with their families, supporters and friends. A total of 45 people were onboard.A mock design of Flight 571 used in a movie about the accidentThe team were bound for Santiago to play against the Old Boys Club, an English rugby team. The flight will need to fly over the Andes and so, the Club President chartered a Uruguayan Air Force plane to fly over the Andes.The captain of the plane was Col. Julio César Ferradas who was an experienced Air Force pilot with a total of 5,117 flying hours. You could say, the plane was in good shape and good hands to make the flight over the Andes.The flight left Montevideo on October 12th, 1972 but were immediately forced to stop overnight in Mendoza, Argentina, when a storm front formed before the Andes. Now, to fly over the Andes, the plane would need to fly over the altitude of 25,000–26,000ft. The plane, if not overloaded, could fly a maximum altitude of 28,000ft. With the plane flying at close full capacity, the pilot would need to carefully calculate the plane’s fuel consumption to ensure that they can pass over the Andes in one piece.On October 13th, 1972, the flight took off from Mendoza and followed a customary U-turn route to avoid the mountains, towards the radiobeacon of Malargüe. From Malargüe, the plane will be sent off to the other side of the Andes.Pilot Ferradas have crossed over the Andes 29 times prior. However, the terrible weather conditions that morning made it hard to visually confirm their location. It was even said that the pilot was incorrectly estimating his location using dead reckoning. Now, they had to turn North after reaching Curicó but given they couldn’t tell their location, the pilot made a miscalculation and turned North too early. A severe turbulence affected the aircraft as they started to descend and not long, they could see a black ridge approaching them; they were too near to a mountain.The pilots did whatever they could to gain altitude but all was in vain and the plane ended up colliding and crashing into the mountain.Now, five people died in the tail section and a further four died from the impact of the fuselage, leaving the survivors at 36. The pilots died too in the cockpit after he was pinned by the nose gear. The survivors fell down to 33 from then on.Since they were severely out of course, search and rescue proved to be difficult as they had to conduct it in the Andes. The last few survivors will only be rescued on December 23rd, 1972.The survivors had little food on the plane; eight chocolate bars, a tin of mussels, three small jars of jam, a tin of almonds, a few dates, candies, dried plums and several bottles of wine. With 33 survivors, they had to split these among them in meagre amounts. Even with strict rationing, their food supply depleted quickly. On the tenth day, they heard that search had been called off and the survivors agreed that if they should die, they will be eaten by others. As such, they agreed to resort of cannibalism and eat the ones who were already dead. One of the survivors, Roberto Canessa, described the resort of cannibalism as:Our common goal was to survive — but what we lacked was food. We had long since run out of the meagre pickings we’d found on the plane, and there was no vegetation or animal life to be found. After just a few days, we were feeling the sensation of our own bodies consuming themselves just to remain alive. Before long, we would become too weak to recover from starvation.We knew the answer, but it was too terrible to contemplate.The bodies of our friends and team-mates, preserved outside in the snow and ice, contained vital, life-giving protein that could help us survive. But could we do it?For a long time, we agonised. I went out in the snow and prayed to God for guidance. Without His consent, I felt I would be violating the memory of my friends; that I would be stealing their souls.We wondered whether we were going mad even to contemplate such a thing. Had we turned into brute savages? Or was this the only sane thing to do? Truly, we were pushing the limits of our fear.If you thought cannibalism was all that they had to worry about, on October 29th, 1972, an avalanche occured which struck the fuselage which they’ve turned into a base, killing eight of them. The survivors inside the fuselage had to dig their way out of the snow as they were running out of oxygen.The survivors then agree to venture out and seek help but were forced to abandon this idea when their radio started to be inoperable.Two of the survivors, Nando Parrado and Roberto Canessa, went on to trek and seek help till they encountered someone called Sergio Catalán. With this, they were able to seek for help and organize a helicopter rescue of those who stayed back in the fuselage.The survivors in the fuselageOn December 22, 1972, the first rescue attempt by helicopter saw seven people being rescued. The last seven will be rescued the next day.In the end, the whole survival period lasted 72 days, with only 16 of the 45 people surviving. This story became so popular because of how cannibalism became the last resort for survival, them surviving an avalanche while they were asleep inside the fuselage and Parrado’s and Canessa’s trek to seek for help.Remember, the passengers on this flight were friends, supporters, team mates and family members! The fact that they were forced to cannibalize on one another to survive makes this whole story heartbreaking when all they were looking forward to was a fun game of rugby in Santiago. 72 days of pure survivalist mode was the last thing they had in mind, let alone cannibalism!Source: Google & Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 - Wikipedia

What is the creepiest thing an older person ever said to you?

“I’ve been wanting to hold you like this for so long”((TRIGGER WARNING)) May be stressful for some readers. Thank you.As a kid, we lived next door to a couple who were about 10–15 years older than my parents. Their names were Joe and Maria. So, as a kid my parents were in their 30’s and Joe and Maria would have been 40–45. They had grown children that had married and moved away from home so it was just them living there by themselves.Joe was a very kind man. Always helped the neighbors with shovelling snow after snowstorms, took us kids to get ice cream, and was just always there to help when needed. Maria was nice to everyone, but she was gone a lot babysitting their grandchildren on the other side of town. Joe was home by himself most of the time, it seemed. We’d sit out on his back porch in the summer eating apples from his tree, grapes from his vines, or eating ice cream. I loved our chats and he was a good listener. I remember when I was about 11 and it was his birthday. I remember running over to his house and giving him a great big hug and saying,”Happy Birthday, Joe!” He’d give me a hug telling me thank you and that I was a great girl.He was always friendly and let all the kids play in his yard. He had swings for his grandchildren so we would play there and we’d play ball, ride bikes in his driveway, or play chase in his massive backyard. All of our yards were open and there were no gates or fences so we all played in each other’s yards. Joe would always sit on the porch and watch us play. We all loved him to be honest….he was the nicest of all of the neighbours.As we got closer to our teenage years, most of the kids got their drivers license and weren’t around as much anymore. Joe was retired by this time and I was one of the youngest of the kids on our street, so I was always home during the summer. When I would go outside, I would see Joe coming outside and he would sit on his back step. He’d wave to me (I could see his backdoor from my backdoor) so, I’d go over to sit with him and talk with him. I would have been about 11–12 years old. Again, I always enjoyed talking to Joe and spending time with him. He was easy to love. He was like the grandpa I wished I had instead of my mother’s stepdad who could be a mean and miserable old coot. I envied his granddaughters, who I played with when they came to stay. I was jealous that they had a cool grandpa who loved them and spent time with them. Even if he wasn’t my grandpa I considered him my friend and I could pretend he was the grandpa I’d always wanted.By 13, i was in middle school and I started to develop. I was getting taller and filling out. I still liked being outside and still liked going over to see Joe, but I started noticing Joe acting a little differently with me. It was just little things in the beginning. He would always get this big smile on his face when I’d come over and he started making comments such as,”You are turning into a pretty girl.” I’d say thank you and then I’d tell him about school, church, and friends. Then mom would yell for me, we’d finish talking and he’d always say,”Come see me anytime” and I’d be off back home to do what mom called me for.From the beginning of 13 he would just tell me I was pretty…then the conversations always went to innocent things like school, church, family etc. but, when I was about 13 1/2 close to 14….I noticed our conversations turning to different topics. He was no longer interested, it seemed, in things I wanted to talk about. He would be talking about how pretty I was and how much I looked like my mother…and would ask if I had a boyfriend. I would tell him no…the boys I knew were just my friends. For the first time, Joe said something, I did not like. He said,”Well, if I was your age…I’d like you for more than a friend.” All I could think of was,”Ewww…Joe would like me for more than a friend if he was my age? Gross. Why would he say that?” I liked him as a grandpa figure.As time went on our conversations became more sexual. I would notice EVERY time I’d step out the back door he would step out, wave, and sit on his back step. I had just turned 14 and I was getting annoyed with our conversations. He had changed and I didn’t know why. I needed Joe to talk to, but he was different and I didn’t like our conversations anymore. I remember a few times I would wave back, but go back into the house just to avoid talking to him. The next day I’d go over and he’d ask,”Are you mad at me?” I told him no. He said,”Why didn’t you come see me? I’d tell him I had chores to do. He replied with,” Well we are friends and I don’t want my best friend mad at me.” I assured him I wasn’t mad.This went on all summer as a 14 year old. He’d talk about sexual things. What it felt like to have sex, that his wife didn’t want to have sex, he would ask me if I had boyfriends, and how he wished he was my age because he’d love to be my boyfriend. It was uncomfortable. I walked home not wanting to speak to him for the rest of the summer. The next day I literally rode my bike right passed him. The day after that he’d ask me if I was angry or upset with him. He’d tell me we were friends and he would be crushed if I never spoke to him again. He would also say,”Now you can’t tell anyone what we talk about because they won’t want you to talk with me anymore. He’d get this sad look and I’d feel so guilty. I never wanted to be unkind to him because he was always so kind to me.After summer was over at 14 years old I’d started high school. His comments were always sexual and asked me if any boys liked me at school. The same old conversation that I hated discussing, but I didn’t know how to tell him to stop because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.In the fall of my freshman year I had gotten off of the bus in tears as high school was new and I was struggling. Joe was out in his driveway and all I wanted was to talk to him and tell him what happened, for him to listen and tell me,”Come on…it’s ok. It’s all going to be ok.” I ran over to him and was sobbing. He hugged me and asked what was wrong and I told him about some struggles with school. His response,”Let’s get into my truck and we’ll talk.” So I get in. All of a sudden he puts his arm around me and pulls me close to him and all of a sudden he is kissing me on the mouth and putting his hands on my chest and started to touch me between my legs. I remember pulling away, opened the door, and jumped out of the truck and ran home thinking,”What just happened? What did he just do? Why did he do that? Why did he kiss me like that?” To be honest I just put it in the back of my mind. He was my friend and I knew I didn’t feel comfortable, but this was someone I trusted. I couldn’t believe he was anything, but nice to me.The next day, Joe waves and I reluctantly go over. At this age I could not process what was happening. I didn’t understand. He says to me,”Haven’t you kissed a boy before?” He was asking this because when he had tried to kiss me I had my mouth tightened together. All I could say was yes that I had. He proceeds to tell me that I need to relax and let boys kiss me. I didn’t say anything. I was so young and it was none of his business if I’d kissed a boy or not, but I didn’t know how to tell him this. I felt so uncomfortable.Fast forward to 15, he would constantly tell me I was pretty, beautiful, that I looked like my mother, that he wished he could date me, that he wished he was my age again. How we’d make out in the backseat of his car and how I would struggle to keep him off of me. I just sat there quietly listening to this, not believing what I was hearing. I was a virgin, very naive, not experienced with boys and even though I’d heard about sex I really didn’t understand sex. I heard kids talk, but until you experience it you really have no clue. I was very young minded and just didn’t fully grasp what was going on here with Joe. I knew he wasn’t the same, but I didn’t know why he wasn’t the same.So from 13–15…there was constant adult talk. Nothing more, but he’d tell me if I told he’d never be able to talk to me anymore….that he could go to jail. I asked him why and he told me he’d thought about me in ways an adult man should not think about a young girl. It was like I would hear him talk, but I couldn’t process what he was saying. Looking back I was stupid, but it’s like there was a part of my brain that was missing and I could not process the things he said to me.At 15, nearly 16….we went on vacation and I was glad to leave. I had my 16th birthday on vacation and I met this boy that I was so “in love” with. I found out he only lived 3 hours from me. We spent the week riding waves, walking hand in hand on the beach, finding places to kiss and make out…lol I finally had my first real kiss and it was the best feeling ever. After a week of the best week of my life we exchanged addresses and phone numbers and I headed home. Problem is I lost his address and phone number. We get home and of course, Joe wants to know if I met any boys etc. I told him about the boy I met, but I’d lost his information to contact him. He asked the name of the boy and where he lived. I told him and he said he’d find it for me.The next morning I got up and something led me to go to my brother’s room which had windows that faced Joe’s house. I remember peering through his blinds toward Joe’s house and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. There was Joe in the window of his porch just watching my house and backdoor. He was waiting for me to come outside. Just standing there watching. It was the creepiest feeling I’d ever felt. That was the first time I actually felt that things were WRONG WRONG WRONG. He was watching my house, which explained why he always came out when I did. I didn’t go out at all that day because every time I peered out the window he was standing there watching my house. Even several days went by and I wouldn’t go outside because he would be in his porch just standing there. It made me feel sick. I wanted to tell my parents, but didn’t. I still didn’t want to get him in trouble.After about a week I hadn’t gone over there. Mom was working in the garden and I went to help her when he stopped me in my yard and asked if I would come help him with something in his kitchen and also he had something to tell me. I yelled to mom that I was going to help him. I ended up taking boxes of jars into the house and set them on the table. He sits down and tells me that he found the boy’s address and phone number that I’d met on vacation. I asked him how he found it. He never said, but he asked if I wanted to go and see him. I told him I did, but wasn’t sure mom would take me. He said,”I’ll take you. We can drive down there in the morning and have breakfast, lunch, some dinner and stay the night in a hotel.” I looked at him and said,”Hotel? It’s only 3 hours away.” He said,”We could just make it a weekend trip.” I didn’t say anything, but as I turned to go he asked where I was going. I told him I had to help mom in the garden. He tried to kiss me and as I backed away and turned to leave he put his arms around my waist and pulled me back against him and he started rubbing himself on me. I said,”Let me go. Mom needs me.” He let go and I ran out of his house.I got to the garden where my mother was working and as I started helping her she said,”You know, you need to be careful being over there when Maria is not there.” I asked why. She said,”It’s not a good idea, that’s why.” I kept asking why because I wanted her to tell me so I could tell her what was happening. She went on to say,”Joe has a problem and I don’t like the idea of you being around him by yourself.” She went on to say that he had done some things to her that made her uncomfortable. Such as approaching her while she worked in the garden, making inappropriate comments to her, and trying to touch her. She said that she didn’t like being alone with him and didn’t think it was good for me to be alone with him either.Finally, I blurted out what he had been doing over the last few years. That he was always talking about sex, that he touched me, got me in his truck and kissed me on the mouth and touched me. I told her what he said about taking me to see the boy I’d met and how he wanted to stay in a hotel for the weekend….just me and him. I also told her that when I was over there he pulled me back into him and he was rubbing up against me. She said,”Oh my gosh….we need to go in and tell your dad right now.” So we did. My dad was pissed and marched right over there and said,”Joe…you’ve always been a great neighbor, but I’ve just heard from my daughter that over the last few years you have been inappropriate with her. Now, I don’t know all the details of what you have been doing or saying to my daughter, but it STOPS NOW. If you don’t stop….I will not hesitate to stop you.” Joe did something I will always struggle to forgive him for. He lied. He stood there and looked at my dad and said,”Well I don’t know what I’ve done. I don’t know what she thinks I’ve done or said. I never did anything to her.” LIAR. My dad told me what he said and I told my dad that he was lying. He believed me and told me I wasn’t to go over there anymore and he wasn’t to come to our house.From that day on I refused to speak to Joe. I would not look at him, would not wave to him, would not go through his yard to other kid’s houses. I remember laying out in the sun and I’d look up and he would be in the bushes on his side just staring at me with this creepy stare. I’d grab everything and would go inside.For the next year I did not speak to him and after a year he and his wife moved. They had lived in that house for 40 years and all of a sudden they moved. Joe’s wife was clueless as to what he had been up to and didn’t know that my dad basically threatened him. Joe had convinced his wife to move to the other side of town to be closer to the grandkids. This is what she told my mother she found out they were moving.Finally, in August right before my Senior year Joe and Maria finally moved. It was like relief came over me. I was finally rid of him.The problem was that this was in the 80’s and things were hush hush and swept under the rug and told to forget about it and move on. Because the neighborhood was quite close with each other there were lots of birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, baby showers, graduations, and we were invited, but so were Joe and Maria. See, noone knew except me, my mom, my dad, and Joe. I hated that. I hated seeing him at every occasion in the neighborhood, basically.One of the neighbor girls got married a few years after they moved and I refused to speak to Joe at the wedding. Well, his wife noticed and said,”What is your problem? You are being very rude to Joe. You just walk past him and don’t even speak to him,” I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t. I just shrugged my shoulders and walked away. She had no idea her husband was a pervert, a liar, and the reason they moved was because he basically stalked me, kissed me, and touched me. He also had a thing for my mother.I remember we had a family business at the local mall and I was the only one working there that evening. I was cleaning shelves and as I turn around Joe is standing right behind me. He comes toward me and says,”Why did you say what you said? Why did you lie to your parents about me? Why did you make them believe I did something wrong?” For the first time I snapped back,”I told them what you were doing because it was true…you big liar!” He literally laughed in my face and leaned over and said,”You told them a bunch of lies and you know it.” I shook my head and told him no…he was the liar and to get out. He continued to laugh and walks out.I didn’t see him again until my grandmother’s funeral 3 years later. He showed up with Maria at her funeral and all I could think of was,”Oh great. This is the worst day of my life and he shows up.” I remember needing my dad and saw him standing and talking to Maria. I looked around the room and didn’t see Joe so I approached my dad and told him what I needed. I look over at Maria and she says,”I’m sorry about your grandmother” and she hugged me. All of a sudden Joe is standing there next to her. My head started to spin,”What do a I say? What do I do?” I hold my hand out to shake his hand and he smiles and holds his arms out wide as if he wants a damn hug. I thought,”No problem….his wife is here, my dad is here.” So I hug him and he whispers in my ear,”I’ve been wanting to hold you like this for so long.” I pulled away and I must have looked incredibly uncomfortable. Why couldn’t he just whisper,”I’m sorry for your loss?” No, he says that. The balls he had to say something like that in front of my dad and his wife. I couldn’t make a scene though because this was a funeral and there were people everywhere. I know Maria asked him later what he said and of course he lied. My dad asked me what he said and I told him and he said,”That Bastard.”I continued to see him at baby showers and parties and I stayed away from him. I wouldn’t go near him.A few years after my grandmother’s funeral, Joe passed away. He had developed cancer. I don’t remember crying. I was too angry and I was glad he was gone. My mother went to the funeral to see Maria, but the rest of us didn’t go.The funny thing is, after Joe and Maria moved out his nephew, wife, and daughter moved in. Their names were Kenny and Sarah. A few years later, Sarah divorced Kenny because for years he had been molesting and raping their daughter, Tina. My mother spoke to Sarah and told her what Joe had done to me. Sarah said,”That whole family is odd. There is a history of sexual abuse in that family that goes back for years, I think.”I’m thankful Joe never raped me, but he was indeed grooming me for that very thing. I’m happy I told on him. In today’s society he’d be in jail.His youngest daughter, Melinda, has asked to see me whenever I’m in town. She knows nothing about her dad and I won’t ruin her memory of him, but she always says to me,”When you are town we need to get together and have coffee and reminisce about our parents.” (My parents have passed on too) I haven’t met with her. NO WAY. It’s bad enough that she puts pictures of Joe on her Facebook and everyone comments what a great guy he was.🙄EDIT #1 since I am rather new to Quora I didn’t know to put a trigger warning. I have done that now. Thank you.EDIT #2 Melinda, Joe’s daughter, would be in her early 60’s now. She married and moved out when she was 18. I don’t think he touched her as she always came back to the house and brought her son and daughter with her.

What is it like to live in a small rural town?

In New York State, the more northward you go, the more southern it gets. The population of my town is ~1200. It’s like a lazaretto; quarantined from the rest of the world.I run every day down the same roads, half of which are unpaved, and through the endless farmland that confines my town with the aid of a river. I see the same people every day and know every townsperson. Spotting strangers is often a cause of concern. Within village limits is a diner, a library, an elementary school, and a store that doubles as a gas station. Outside the village (but technically still part of the town), miles away, we have a high school, a trailer park, a fire station, and a police department. Our town has a distinctive vocabulary and (arguably) an accent.This little town has big secrets. People joke about rural incest, but this town is rife with it and the families will go to great lengths to hide it. Usually it’s between second cousins, but sometimes it’s closer. This town has an unbelievably dark history kept alive only by word of mouth. Suicide, a triple homicide, bodies in the river, family feuds, drug traffic (among other kinds of traffic), et al. The types of things some teenaged boys get away with are sickening—family influences in this town are the cause of its corruption. The fledgling predators are kindred to the little officialdom there is in this town.Winters here can be frozen hell; incredibly desolate. The power often goes out and is not restored for a while. Roads can be problematic when your town has two plows and they only plow the paved roads. When you can’t contact anyone and you can’t go anywhere, it feels like the world outside your town isn’t there anymore. Just snow and silence, and it doesn’t end. Snow piles up to your knees starting as early as November and might not melt entirely until mid-April. Sometimes in the winter mornings, it can be below -15F. (For people in warmer climates, NYC rarely dips below 10F, in comparison.) Two feet of snow and subzero temperatures don’t care if you have to walk two miles to school, or work outside, or get your run in. It’s relentless and you’re lucky if it doesn’t turn you just as cold as the temperature.A lot of my classmates share the same last names as the street names; their ancestors founded this town and their blood has been here since. In my short lifetime, I’ve seen many natives try to leave and newcomers try to move in. Often, the newcomers end up moving out again and the natives come back home. My folks are included in the latter; I don’t remember much from this time, but we tried to take to the city only to come back within a year.I knew two men starkly unalike each other, the only similarity between them being that this place and its people left them derelict. One left abruptly and went far away and the other stayed. I used to wonder how someone could leave their home forever without a goodbye, but now I don’t see how somebody could stay here. I asked the guy who stayed how he could, after what this place took from him, and he said this town—and the few acres he had—was all he had left; of his family, his childhood. He didn’t know anyplace else. When I told him my plans of leaving, he said my mind would always be here; that I can go to the the city and learn city ways, but he said “country” is as much a part of me as English is my native language and I wouldn’t be at home.I believe the essence of what he said. I’ve spent my whole life walking through woods and farmland to get to school, fishing, snowmobiling/four-wheeling, having bonfires, and the loudest thing being roosters and tree-birds crowing in the morning. In the summer, I work at an apple orchard and in the winter I work on a Christmas tree farm. I love car-rides, walking, biking, and running; but not so much in the city. An environment where noise is the default, where you can go weeks where your feet touch nothing but cement, where the only nature is in maintained parks, and where nobody knows your name or remembers your face—can you really habituate to that?This town is 97% white, meaning there are only about 40 people of minority race. In my school, there are three fully non-white kids and five biracial kids. Unfortunately, I have never known an openly gay/lesbian adult in real life, nor any people of noticeable Native American Indian or Middle Eastern descent. The vast majority of the residents also go to the same church. My town voted overwhelmingly for Trump. Trump stickers and confederate flags (yes, really) are just as commonplace here as people who share the same last name, which is to say really common.But hey: small rural towns aren’t that bad!Really. There are some compensatory qualities. Not nearly enough to actually compensate, but still. People might “hate” each other, but you’re all (both literally and metaphorically) family. The people you fight with are the same people you went to preschool with. Yes, they might have popped your bike tire, stole your homework, and tried to fight you, but they’ll still lend you ten bucks if you ask for it and give you a cupcake on their birthday. People also make each other food for the most trivial occasions. If your relative dies, or it’s your birthday, or you did good in your sport, you can expect a cake or casserole on your doorstep. Just return the pan. There are also a lot of community events which are quite nice: farmer’s markets, 5Ks, fairs, picnics.Cities are for knowledge and power; the country is for peace and togetherness. Small rural towns are an acquired taste.

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