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.