Suicide Death is our escape, In this world of bitter, twisted lies. Death is no mistake, Despite the early cries. Death is the one and only, Way people realise far too late. Their death was very lonely, And full of nothing but anger and hate.

Guilt Guilt is your shadow, She is your fear, Your anger, Guilt is the clouds on a stormy day, Oh how she thunders, She weeps, Guilt is in your mind, She is in your heart, Your soul, Guilt will never leave you, She is you shadow, She is you.

Pilot Of The Skies Part 2 The world around me was rushing faster than I was thinking. Infront of me, being licked by the flames as if it was a juicy carcass, was a human corpse. This shocked me, I definately remember being told there was going to be no co pilot on this mission, I definately remember stepping into the great Typhoon on my own, I definately remember plummeting towards the earth with no backup. Who was it? There were two explanations. One; this was a a person who had either come to recue me or attack but got caught in the flames, or; it was my body. The latter seemed more beliveable. This was only because it was the front of two burning seats (where the pilot sat) and the person was strapped against the seat. Well, I say strapped against the seat, only now by a thread as the reat of the safety buckles and belts had burnt to an ash. My concerns did not land there though. If that was my body, who was I? Or at least, what was I? I couldn't be anyone else, that was impossible. So I had to be something else, but that was also impossible, wasn't it? Or was it? Questions and answers quickly fit themselves together, like a puzzle they created a picture. But this was a picture I did not want to see. A picture no pilot or anyone at all would want to see. I was dead. But also alive. There was only one thing (believed) to be on this planet like this. But why? Why me? Sure it was just a dream! Just a bad dream! Why did it have to be this? Just a bad dream. A bad dream. I was a ghost, why? The shattered hope inside me had been swept away and was never to be seen again. May be it would get recycled. Unlikely. Why would anyone want to have hope like me? Stuck for thoughts, I stared at by slowly burning body. At least I didn't suffer. But I knew my future held suffering. I would be a ghost, I would watch my friends die. I would watch the world end. This was not fair. I wanted people to know my suffering. But that wasn't fair on them. What did they do? Nothing. That was what was left. Nothing. Not even my long gone hope. I stared at the sandy desert below me. I stared at the sky above me. At least they weren't gone. And maybe I could make the most of them. I would try to anyway. I did not yet know my limits. I think my hope had been recycled, and it was me who had recycled it. I began to wonder North. When I was plummeting to my death, I had imagined being stranded in a desert, but I was considerably close to civilisation. The desert I had crashed into was barely ther size of two football pitched. Not I considersd myself a bit of a drama queen. After a short while of walking I reached an airfield. Silhouettes in the sunset could only tell me what this airfield was like. Surrounding the wall and spiked fences were anti aircraft gun. They must have been the ones to shoot mw down. There were none other in sight. In the centre of the airfield was a line of aircraft. Shining, well polished and maintained aircraft. Ones which, in my eyes, were beautiful. I looked at the sky again. I still had the sky. I now had these planes. An idea which changed my #life could also change my death. I could steal these aircraft and crash them. It would make no difference to me. I was dead. But my country was not. I was free to be the pilot of the skies. A hero. This was a hope that was going to stick with me forever. The pilot of skies would haunt these villains, these terroists, and will always be remembered.

Pilot Of The Skies Part 1 The world around me was still. Too still. Not a movement, not a sound. In a way I found this peaceful and calm, but I knew this was wrong. When was anywhere on Earth ever like this? The ground which I lay up on was soft and warm, but also grainy and uncomfortable. What was it? Sand? I suspected so. It had been ages since I had felt the soft, summery touch of the sand - but I had seen plenty of it. Mounds and mounds of it flying over continental deserts in military jets. But why was I lying on the sand instead of soaring above it? Evidence came easily to me. I lifted my head and peered behind me. What I saw horrified me. Something had happened which I had never thought would happen. Sonething which I couldn't stand to believe. Flaming in a heap of remains on the sand was the Tornado. My beautifully crafted and engineered plane which only moments earlier I had to had been flying. But not only was I hit with the burning wreckage of the beautiful Tornado, I was also hit badly with something I had only just considered. How was I still alive? How wasn't I badly injured? There was no cut or bruise on my body to say what had happened. No pain or ache anywhere on my body to prove my crash. How was this possible? I hoped against all hope that it was my imagination. Just a bad dream. But that's all I had in the end: hope. Hope was the key to everything - as long as you hoped everything else came relatively easy. But easy was not working right now. Panicked, my mind raced. It was searching for an answer, a key. But nothing is what it found. The want to scream was overwhelming. My insides wanted to bust, my brain wanted to escape and run somewhere else. Just a bad dream. Why couldn't I wake up? I was stuck. The world was spinning. Just a bad dream. It wasn't though! It wasn't! It couldn't be! Why dis this have to happen to me? Why wasn't I waking up? Internally I was battling against myself. Trying to wake up, trying to ignore the present situation. None of this was helping. I was a trained fast jet pilot. I was supposed to remain calm in tricky situations like this. But why couldn't I now? It might be because I was silently mourning the loss of the wonderful Typhoon. It might be because I was worried about how I wasn't injured or dead. It might be... no, that was a stupid idea. Now my hopeful imagination was getting the better of me. But it could be true... but it wouldn't be. That's all fantasy rubbish, isn't it? How could I be a ghost? Ghosts don't exhist. Pushing all fantasy thoughts out my head, I slowly clambered to my feet. I thought I had already had the worst shock today. But I was wrong. I was always wrong, wasn't I? What I saw next hit me like a fist. It shook my head about and dizzied me. It curled my insides and made me feel sick. In short, my little hope had been shattered into a thousand pieces.