Kreative Kue 219 asked for submissions based on this photograph:
John W Howell is the author of the John Cannon trilogy of My GRL, His Revenge, Our Justice and Circumstances of Childhood, co-author of The Contract, and blogs at Fiction Favorites.
The Flight by John W. Howell © 2019
“Well sir, just sit back and relax. We’ll be airborne in a few minutes.”
“I’m not sure about this.”
“Now, sir. You are as safe with me as if you are in your favorite chair in your living room.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. This is like a chair. You sure this thing can fly?”
“It is called a lightweight, sir. It flys like a bird.”
“But can it lift the two if us?”
“I have made hundreds of flights. Trust me, it can lift the two of us. In addition, we will have some friends join us.”
“On this thing. Now you are kidding me, right?”
“Not on this vehicle. Behind us.”
“Yes, we will be leading a flock of geese.”
“Geese? Aren’t a bunch of them called a gaggle.”
“Gaggle, flock. No matter. They will follow us for some exercise.”
“Why don’t they go on their own?”
“They think our ship is their mother.”
“When they hatched, they saw my lightweight first. You know the old imprinting birds do. Well, the eggs were in a nest next to my plane, and the rest is history.”
“Is that them walking around.”
“Yup. You ready now?”
“I guess so.”
“Remember to lift up as we gain speed.”
“A little lightweight humor.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Here we go. oops.”
“Oops? What’s oops?”
“Forgot the goose call.”
“Isn’t is like a honk.”
“No, I mean the device.”
“Not really. You can make a goose sound, can’t you?”
“No. I have no idea how.”
“It’s okay. More lightweight humor.”
“Still not laughing. I see they are following us.”
My effort was
I knew it would happen. It was bound to, sooner or later. Let me explain:
I’m one of those people you wouldn’t call accident-prone as much as disaster-prone. My Dad even told me once that I wasn’t planned, I was … you guessed it, an accident. He always reckoned that was when it started. Reckoned one of his swimmers had no sense of direction and took a wrong turn. That’s why I’ve got no sense of direction either. Games teachers at school always said I had – what was it they called it? Oh yes, inadequate spatial awareness.
Tell you how bad it was; my Dad tried to get me to navigate when we went on holiday. Bought me one of those upside-down atlases to help me. We lived in Yorkshire and went on holiday in the south, so with the upside-down maps, I could follow where we were. Mind you, I was stumped when we went to Cornwall; I really need one turned on its right to get there and one on its left to get back again until we turned up to Birmingham when the right-way-up one was okay.
He only tried that once. Left Mum to do the navigating, which she did right up to the divorce. After that, he got a satnav. Mind you, after he divorced Mum I didn’t go on holiday with him again. Well, it was no fun without Mum. I could never see how going to a pub in Hampshire or Cornwall instead of Yorkshire was much of a holiday.
Anyway, listen to me rambling again. What am I like?
So when the woman at the bird place told me to, what was it? Oh yeah, to cast the bird, I did it too hard and in the wrong direction. It was her own fault, really. She said I should do it like I’m throwing a ball. You know how nobody’s supposed to say anyone throws like a girl or runs like a girl? Supposed to be hurtful or typecasting or demeaning or something. Well. I don’t mind if people accuse me of that, because I do. And I did. Threw it like a girl.
Anyway, they’re not stupid or unprepared or such at that place. The birds are fitted with transmitters – let me look at my piece of paper, ’cause I wrote it down (I knew I’d never remember it) called telemetry. Since I lost it, they said I had to find it again. They gave me a little aerial thing that beeps into my earpiece when it’s within about a kilometre of the bird and gets louder the closer you get to it. And it gets louder if you’re pointing straight at it. Clever stuff.
I’ve got to leave you now. The driver of this microlight thingy says he’s ready to take off, so I’d best get ready with my thing so we can find this bird. God knows what I’ll do when we find it, though. Hope he knows how to get it back again.
On to this week’s challenge: Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here.
Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries next Monday.