The earth rushes toward you. ‘Mayday, mayday, mayd–!’ The low rotor warning horn disrupts your radio call.

You shove the collective down in desperation, trying to save your helicopter. Too late. Shrapnel litters your cockpit as the sickening crunch of metal explodes into the tarmac. Your helmet shatters the Plexiglas window on impact. Flames engulf your body. I lay roses on your headstone. This life is over.

This story was entered during the winter 2016 Western Gazette’s 50 word story (excluding title) competition.

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