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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s