Nationalism, defeatism, and fatalism — the three horsemen of the Aussie apocalypse.
Always on the horizon, now galloping at full speed.
Their only hurdle: “She’ll be right, mate.”
Aussie sits in the pilot’s seat — defeatism in his hands, resignation in his posture.
Beside him, the copilot Fatalism nods along, convinced that whatever happens was always going to happen.
And behind them, the navigator charts a nationalistic course — confident in direction, blind to the failing instruments and altitude warnings.
The plane is descending. Not from malice, but from instinct, habit, and inherited assumptions.
Aussie believes the crash is inevitable. Fatalism believes it is predetermined. The navigator believes the destination matters more than the condition of the aircraft.
Meanwhile, the emerging flight crew — the Ostralians — stand ready in the aisle, waiting for the cockpit door to finally swing open.