Read My Shorts

The Sands of Time

No one should be alone in their old age, he thought as he half zipped his coveralls. I'm glad I'm not.

He glanced around the crowded cabin of the high altitude plane and watched as his fellow nonagenarians zipped up, strapped in or (in one case) passed out. He caught the eye of Dolores and winked, a grin wrinkling his weatherbeaten face. They'd gotten on well during training after being buddied up on the first day, and he realised he hadn't felt so alive in years.

He pointed at her, and circled his thumb and forefinger into an O, raising an eyebrow in question. She nodded and grinned at him. He mimicked her as she lifted her breathing mask into place and, in number order, they lined up by the massive doors of the plane as it levelled out its trajectory. His eyes traced the nape of her neck down to the large '1' printed on her back. He'd be second out of the doors.

The tannoy crackled. "T minus one minute ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying with us and we wish you a fantastic descent. The skies are clear above the Mojave today; there is nothing down there to get in your way apart from an occasional buzzard. Blue cloudless skies all the way to the sands below."

A hand reached back and stole into his own and he gripped it firmly, his other hand steady on the bar above his head as he shifted his balance.

"Thirty seconds folks, we're just coming into position now."

How long has it been since I held someone's hand? How long has it been since I last did this? He glanced at the insignia on the breast of his old uniform, the open front of his coveralls showing the faded RAF emblem, wings of a near forgotten past still borne with pride, but with no fading of bitter memory. Flames, guns, bombs and the stench of death and destruction warred in his mind as the second 'war to end all wars' played out in hideous technicolour in his mind.

"Twenty seconds," broke through his reverie and he snapped his head round to the doors as they trundled open.

Dolores turned to face him. Twinkling eyes met his and turned into a fierce hug. A hand lifted to stroke his cheek and he grinned under his mask as his own hand did the same in return.

Still got it. He thought. Even at ninety five and with a few fingers missing, I've still got it. I may not be able to play the piano but I can still catch the eye of the hottest girl in the room. Jeez, what a time to meet the girl of your dreams. He laughed, giddy with excitement, joy and fear.

"You ready pet?" He shouted over the roar of the wind and 'Ten second' warning.

"Hell no," she shouted. "But you only die once!"

He grinned again, and then she was gone, running full pelt for the open door. He whooped and ran along after her, the few metres covered in a breathless stumble until he was free, and falling.

Falling, endlessly falling...

Falling, twisting and turning, buffeted, and tumbling until old reactions kicked in and he stabilised, arms spread and head back as he screamed with joy and terror into the azure blue of the altitude rich sky.

I can see the earth, the curve, it's stunning. Well, the brochure certainly promised a once in a lifetime experience and by hell they delivered.

A slender form whipped past him in a full headlong dive; wasted, wheelchair legs flapping uselessly behind the torso, and he whooped again, thrilling at the speed of the other skydiver.

As the Earth span lazily toward him, the memory of a Lancaster bomber going down as he leapt into the sky above Japan tore through his throat with a moan. Phantom pain ripped with shrapnel memory through his leg and he grabbed for the handle of his chute.

Seventy years on though it wasn't there.

He laughed again as reality kicked in and flung his arm wide to steady his descent. What a ride, what a way to go. No chute, no choice, just flying. Amazing how these places diversify, although they need to work on their marketing a bit. Dignitas - going the way you want to go. Nice idea, poor wording. Mind you, I can't exactly ask for a refund. He chuckled mentally, his white halo of hair streaming out behind him.

Grinning, the old man waited for the not quite spherical fly swat that was heading toward him at 120mph. He whooped again, screaming pain, joy and fear to the void as a final thought filtered through his adrenalin addled mind.

Cancer be screwed, I'm flying out...

~~~

Just under 800 words for a prompt sparked by the Senior Writing Challenge (I'm not quite 95 yet though). 

The task this time was to write a short story between 500 and 2000 words and be based on the Ernest Hemmingway quote - "No one should be alone in their old age, he thought" - which is taken from the The Old Man and the Sea. 

There may yet be a few more coming too... =]