We are at 12,000 feet just off the coast of war scarred England. The sky is pitch dark below us save for a brilliant flame that swiftly falls out of sight into the yawning void. It once was a Spitfire.
To our right, in the gloom a parachute harness snaps with a CRACK so loud and so vicious that it must feel to the poor pilot much like that which is felt on the sudden jolt experienced by a hanged man just a nano second before plunging into dark eternity.
Let us observe the man dangling there in the pelting rain beside us. We must listen closely for he is thinking out loud as he plunges toward the angry sea far below.
Twisting in the whistling cold air beneath the singing, untangling shrouds and a broad popping canopy of white silk, SNAFU had one last miserable thought. In a voice ripe with emotion we clearly hear him mutter, "No one will ever know what happened....."
We hope you find your way back soon Old Man. ------------------ "Blessed are they who expect nothing. For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"
[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-16-2002).]
[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-17-2002).]
