Flight 305 Remembered

Happy Days! The vog has blown away. (Kind of. Every day Madam Pele makes another 4,000 tons of it.) Mahalo to all for your good, vog dispersing, health restoring wishes this past week. They are precious to me. (And I choose to believe they worked.)

Here, in celebration of clearer air, is a 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers, a complement of authors on their way to ports unknown, who, while waiting for their ships to come in, write weekly pieces inspired by photo prompts (this week’s courtesy of inveterate ferry rider, Ted Strutz) promulgated by our purple clad helmsperson, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

I think it appropriate to add this multi-layered quote for everyone kind enough to have read this far.

“If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write something worth reading or do things worth writing.”  ——- Benjamin Franklin  (who was on board Flight 305 in a big way.)

During planning I’d imagined the night jump to a blind landing would be the acid test of my resolve. Through all the years the real challenge has been to resist the urge to spill my guts.

Be nice to tell someone about it, but even if I did, there’d still be doubters. Same idiots who said we didn’t land on the moon.

Last I heard, the case is still open. So I ride the ferry, take in the sights, just an old geezer doing jigsaw puzzles to pass the time.

Sure was something, though.