A lone plane flies over a small atoll buffeted by the noisy wind.

It's a lone duo looking for the concrete in the sea and sand.

Half tank, either we find this thing or return empty…What there it is!

Remember your training, air breaks out. Throttle forward stick down.

     SUDDEN STOP NOSE DOWN!

                                                Ears popping

                                                              Falling 

                                                                       Airframe

                                                                                Folding

                                                                                      Cracking

                                                                                           Flack

                                                                                             Firing

                                                                                        BOMBS DROP

                                                                                            BOOM!!!

Back to reality, sitting in an old seat with the chemical smell of glue. Plastic covered by a dull tacky primer. I curtly laugh to myself. To dream that I was a pilot and not some daydreaming bookworm, I'm not like my uncle, that great brave veteran.  I return to my plane not as a pilot but as a painter for my flying miniature model canvas to mark it, US Navy. 

Seconds later my mom came in and fell to the floor. My father rushed to her side and I was a few steps behind. I asked my mom what happened only to be met by tears. I asked my dad and he said in a whisper. 

Your uncle is dead. 

I fell to the floor and was stuck like glue, finally, I  scraped myself up and because there was nothing left to do, he put me back to sob on my bed in my room. I looked back to my plane. It was a TBF Avenger. My uncle gave it to me, but now there was no uncle and no person to blame or maim so I might avenge him, you can't get back at cancer. That plane is still on my cluttered desk today, unfinished. Parts and paint glasses spread out like small islands on the open sea. On hot days gusts from my loud ceiling fan would waft over and blow cool wind on them.

A lone plane flies over a small atoll buffeted by the noisy wind.