“ God made men so that they could not fly.
You made me defy god.
Because love made me willing to fly for you”
The Hellcat thundered down the runway as the pilot throttled down the engine. The setting sun in the background castled a deathly shadow of doom on the tarmac, a little reflection of the horrible atrocities the plane has flown through.
The pilot stared out of his cockpit, among the crowd that had gathered at the air force base, ready to welcome the valiant pilots that had managed to hold the British front for yet another day.
He was looking for only one.
Behind him, another 2 hell cats lined up to land. The pilot single handedly clutched his joystick and pushed the aircraft off the tarmac and into the flight hanger. In the other, he clutched a bunch of roses. And in his mind, he clutched a glimmer of hope.
L’amour de ma Vie. The name splashed over his fighter. Sentimental yes, but it was true. For there was only one other.
He clambered off the fighter, patted his flight engineer who had come forward to reseal a leaking vent on the aircrafts cyclone 1800 engine.
He held the roses in his left hand and hid it behind, and in his right he held a note. A note he had written when waiting for orders behind the French lines.
He tried to pick out the brunette, the one and only he was looking for. He had only another 12 minutes before they were scheduled for another skirmish. He urged himself through the crown, intent on finding his one true love.
He felt a tap on his shoulder.
He spun around and was greeted by a peck on the lips.
He smiled.
She smiled. She had seen the roses.
She knew that roses were rare. They were restricted. Rationed. A love long lost from the reality of the war. She grabbed them and took a whiff. The pilot sniggered as he watched his one true love savour its aroma, nonchalant about the crowd around them.
They held hands as they walked to the hanger and sat down to talk, as they watched the sun set behind the horizon.
He pointed his plane out and she asked him what his call sign meant. He never did tell her and was never planning to.
They didn’t really finish their conversation, and the siren sang earlier than usual. The pilot grabbed his gear and left. The girl stared at his departing shadow, her heart aching. She knew somehow, that this was the last time they would meet. She didn’t want him to go.
As the hellcats of squadron 74 left for the vast expanse of the skies, it would be their last meeting.
It was a week. There were no tears when the officer handed her the letter. She reached into her coat for her handkerchief to wipe the raindrops off the letter when she felt a piece of paper that wasn’t supposed to be there.
“Dear Carmen,
I know I haven’t told you before.
And I hope I will get the chance to.
I just wanted you to know.
That I love you.
I’ll always do.
And I will
Until the last rose dies.”
Carmen stared into the house. There in the vase was the last rose. A paper rose. That withstood all time, That withstood eternity, That transcended all boundaries.
You made me defy god.
Because love made me willing to fly for you”
The Hellcat thundered down the runway as the pilot throttled down the engine. The setting sun in the background castled a deathly shadow of doom on the tarmac, a little reflection of the horrible atrocities the plane has flown through.
The pilot stared out of his cockpit, among the crowd that had gathered at the air force base, ready to welcome the valiant pilots that had managed to hold the British front for yet another day.
He was looking for only one.
Behind him, another 2 hell cats lined up to land. The pilot single handedly clutched his joystick and pushed the aircraft off the tarmac and into the flight hanger. In the other, he clutched a bunch of roses. And in his mind, he clutched a glimmer of hope.
L’amour de ma Vie. The name splashed over his fighter. Sentimental yes, but it was true. For there was only one other.
He clambered off the fighter, patted his flight engineer who had come forward to reseal a leaking vent on the aircrafts cyclone 1800 engine.
He held the roses in his left hand and hid it behind, and in his right he held a note. A note he had written when waiting for orders behind the French lines.
He tried to pick out the brunette, the one and only he was looking for. He had only another 12 minutes before they were scheduled for another skirmish. He urged himself through the crown, intent on finding his one true love.
He felt a tap on his shoulder.
He spun around and was greeted by a peck on the lips.
He smiled.
She smiled. She had seen the roses.
She knew that roses were rare. They were restricted. Rationed. A love long lost from the reality of the war. She grabbed them and took a whiff. The pilot sniggered as he watched his one true love savour its aroma, nonchalant about the crowd around them.
They held hands as they walked to the hanger and sat down to talk, as they watched the sun set behind the horizon.
He pointed his plane out and she asked him what his call sign meant. He never did tell her and was never planning to.
They didn’t really finish their conversation, and the siren sang earlier than usual. The pilot grabbed his gear and left. The girl stared at his departing shadow, her heart aching. She knew somehow, that this was the last time they would meet. She didn’t want him to go.
As the hellcats of squadron 74 left for the vast expanse of the skies, it would be their last meeting.
It was a week. There were no tears when the officer handed her the letter. She reached into her coat for her handkerchief to wipe the raindrops off the letter when she felt a piece of paper that wasn’t supposed to be there.
“Dear Carmen,
I know I haven’t told you before.
And I hope I will get the chance to.
I just wanted you to know.
That I love you.
I’ll always do.
And I will
Until the last rose dies.”
Carmen stared into the house. There in the vase was the last rose. A paper rose. That withstood all time, That withstood eternity, That transcended all boundaries.
posted by bingxi) at 7:10 AM
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