This is a silly litle short story I came up with, after some
acid and
1942.
Once again, I have awoken strapped into the cockpit of this plane. My eyes pried open, my hands glued to this
control pad. I remember nothing before this. I live only for destruction.
They just want to dance with us I am the winged
angel over the
pacific, and these japanese zeros on the horizon are
sinners to be cleansed. What exactly are they guilty of? I can't remember anymore. It makes my head hurt, and there are more important things to worry about.
We engage, and the first group of fighters breaks left. I bank, and lead appropriately with my guns. I mash the
red button marked
B. I can almost hear their nonsensical cries of rage as my cannons work their way across their
formation. One, then the next, then another plane
explodes in a hail of lead and gas and flames and metal.
I hear
whistling coming from somewhere.
No time for
hallucinations, there's another
squadron coming right at me. This time, they
fan off to either side of me, and execute evasive maneuvers, firing the whole time.
yellow and
black shot pulses past me. I wonder what we must look like to the
islanders below.
What islands are these, anyhow? I've never seen any maps of this area.shut up. no time for this. Destroy them!
I return to my senses in time to see three pulsating balls heading towards me. Not enough time to dodge them. I slide my
thumb over to the button marked
A, and prepare for evasive maneuvers. The
G forces almost rip the controller out of my hand, but my
intensive training has once again paid off. I
loop straight up and head back down without a
nick on my
fighter. Composure returned, I immediately
return fire. Three of theirs go down, and the rest fly past.
They're not your enemies. Look, they're dancing. Like butterfliesno. they're angry bees. they want to sting you! DESTROY THEM!!!
More
whistles.
And then there is only
droning. I can hear it through the cockpit
glass even before the
air fortress drops out of the cloud cover.
Armored like an
armadillo, bristling with guns like a angry
porcupine. It saunters in front of me, shrugging off my gunfire like a
bear shrugs off
mosquitoes and spitting
cannonballs and heavy
artillery rounds like an
incontinent man at a
chili cookoff.
I
zig when I should have
zagged, and find myself in the line of fire. I know it's
too late, but I reach the
A button. There is a
cannonball meters away from the nose of the plane. I can see the imperfections in the
surface,
warping my
reflection. My expression is surprisingly
serene, for somebody facing
imminent death
and then it's over, without a
sound from me. My plane does all of the
vocalising for me. glass shatters, my involuntary muscle spasms fire off a few rounds before the
fuselage explodes,
flames roaring, engine whining as it sinks into the
ocean and the nameless islands below.
finally, peace.
Once again, I have awoken strapped into the cockpit of this plane. My eyes pried open, my hands glued to this control pad. I remember nothing before this.I live only for destruction.
They just want to dance with us