I’d waited years for this day but it hasn’t been in my thoughts for a long time.
The accident saw to that.
I’d jumped into the car but they’d had to extract me from it through the mangled bodywork.
I’d left behind more than just my limbs.
My carefree childhood and all my aspirations were left behind too.
I’d emerged permanently diminished and just a shadow of who I used to be.
So you’d brought me, my comrades, to the airfield to admire the restoration and pointed out the features we’d worked on together. Those long weekends of beers and barbecues and summer sweat.
One beer too many before the trip home, that nasty numbing truth, the wrong that could never be righted, the weight that refused to be lifted.
The plane looks so different from the wheelchair and I duck as you push me under the wing.
Then you circle around me and with your strong friendly hands, you lift me from the chair and into the passenger seat.
You say, with one voice, “No need for legs to fly!”
Then, that satisfying noise as we take off and leave, searching for different perspectives.
I hope you enjoy this weeks Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Please do go over and read the other entries and why not add your own. It really is a fun challenge.