“Hang in there, I’ll get this joker off your tale,” he said to himself as he took aim. The smoke from his engine stung his nostrils making it hard to breath and difficult to hold everything steady. His plane had some serious damage from earlier battles. “Come on,” he said out loud, trying to will his enemy into his sights. “A little closer,” he was putting pressure on the trigger…
“Danny, time for dinner,” his mom called from the kitchen.
“Ah man, I almost had that jerk,” he said out loud hoping his mom would hear.
“Dad,” he said as he approached the dinner table. “How many enemy fighters have you shot down?”
“Son, we have been over this a thousand times.”
“So… more or less than ten?”
“None Danny, none, I am an airline pilot I don’t shoot at anything.”
The above story represents my entry to Alastair’s Photo Fiction.