The sun's rays streamed across the horizon, spreading its beams of hope for all the world to see and feel. It would be a better day today than yesterday. That was the idea behind thinking positive, right? You work hard, you take care of your responsibilities, you get stronger and better. The next day is always better than the day before.<br/><br/>Hamza had fallen asleep face down at the edge of the raft. His left hand hung over the edge. It dipped into the salty water. At first, he felt as though he were dreaming. Then the brightness of the morning's sunlight pried his eye lids.<br/><br/>326 people were travelling aboard flight 2088 that night. Slowly, the events of the past four or more hours drifted back through his brain. Hamza had no idea how many passengers and flight crew were on the plane. He lifted his head and found fewer than a dozen on the raft, which was about ten feet long and five feet wide.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://utcaerospacesystems.com/cap/products/PublishingImages/PHOTO_Interiors_3%20Inflatable%20Systems.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><br/>He remembered grabbing his carry-on luggage from the overhead bin. Unzipping the pouch and reaching inside, he found a banana which would be his breakfast. No, he wasn't sharing. At least not yet. For Hamza he was still only thinking of himself. He felt no attachment to these westerners. There wasn't an Arab in the group. No one from Iran or even Pakistan here. Not one African, only Brits and Americans. Hamza felt no empathy for them and questioned how he would behave toward his fellow survivors. Would he help them? Would they try to help him? They would want any provisions he had,  that was for damn sure. What about a mobile?<br/><br/>Hamza scanned the horizon. There must have been other rafts. One of these commercial airliners of this size has eight of these rafts aboard them. He squinted to get a better look. The swells had calmed from the overnight. They were only lapping two to three feet, ulike the six to eight foot swells that swallowed the Dreamliner. With the smaller swells, he certainly would be able to see someone, right? Nothing as far as the eye could see. He searched for masts; signs of a ship in the distance. He'd read you could see seven miles to the horizon at sea level. So that gave him a fourteen mile viewing diameter. There was nothing to see to the north and east, but calm cloudless blue skies. To the south and west, the clouds grew more ominous. He could make out the distant lines, sheets of rain. This was the calm before the storm. How bad of a storm could it be? Do hurricanes track across the ocean? Hamza knew the answer to that one. He figured they had about two hours before this storm started raining on the survivors of flight 2088.<br/><br/>Hamza reached for his jacket pocket. His jacket? where was it? 'Pray to Allah! I left it on the seat!' Hamza thought to himself. No mobile device to call for help. 'Maybe one of these soft fools has one? There are probably some injured.' Hamza had some first responder training in the army and would help those in need. He felt he should at least extend that olive branch against a group of people who had no idea they were at war. He would have to get along with them in order to survive.<br/><br/>The sun? Hamza slowly turned himself toward the rising sun, both knees tucked underneath him. He splayed his upper torso in front of him his hands brought together near his forehead as they touched the rubber/vinyl blend of the raft. He began to quietly offer his morning prayers to Allah. 'Help us to survive this coming storm. It will only get worse before it gets better.'