A Five Sentence Fiction
That red aeroplane with a yellow nose and tail whips past Cecil Lewis and I take chase as it twists and dives, heading into the clouds, and I know he can’t shake me.
I recognize the flash of the setting sun on the pilot’s goggles when he glances fearfully over his shoulder at me, as I fire burst after burst into his scout, watching him drop below me and knowing he’s done.
The craziness and blood lust that overtakes me at such times ebbs away and I break through the clouds, seeing from my altimeter that we’ve dove to only 200 feet.
But why are the clouds in the wrong place, still below my wings?
The whirling disk in front of me fades away and I see the top of my propeller blade, vertical like that stalactite church steeple hanging down in front of me, and then…that great noise.
Here’s a Five Sentence Fiction using Lillie McFerrin’s prompt word BLADES. It’s a reworked piece of an old short story I wrote, titled Albert Ball Flies Home.