The Final Standing King
Isabelle Payne, Grade 7
The three British aircraft established a close formation, resisting the forces of the obstinate wind, relentless. The Nazi rivalry below on the barren land loaded their rifles, hurling a stream of invective against the British. A staccato of gunshots vociferated, plummeting with utmost strength onto the aircraft of the British soldier, Smith; bullets seep through the edges of his door. Trepidation crawled up his spine, yet Smith’s adamantine will to withstand the rival intensified, pulsing through his veins. Suspended at the moment, his heart hammered voraciously against his ribcage, fuelling his ambition to fight back.
He accelerated the motor, drilling past a swarm of leaves dipping into the wind, fluttering with the false promise of flight. The tumultuous hiss of his engine inspired the trees to dance rhythmically, yet deafened the ears of mother nature.
Then Smith crashed.
Into a tree.
His aircraft shattered, debris plunging into the ground.
A sardonic smile emerged from a Nazi’s puckered lips, yet his eyes held a glint of fear as he watched Smith, stubbornly bold, trudge onto a nearby abandoned aircraft.
The Nazi’s upper lip curled with contempt, bawling with belligerence at his fellow comrades. “Ach du lieber Himmel! Battle harder! Abolish the British airforce!”
Smith rolled down the aircraft's window, the fulgurous purple sky striking lightning in the vicinity. The accompanying music of rain droplets battered his wavering shoulders, its inexorability suggesting the futility of war.
He fixated his rifle on a Nazi aircraft within sight, clenching his jaw and cranking his neck, undeterred. The frigid rain bit his skin yet drenched his apprehension, each drop igniting him with delicate thoughts of the legacy he would leave behind, hovering precariously in the emptiness of his mind.
Smith pulled the trigger with jingoism, marking his legacy and the first successful British atrocity of the war. The wounded aircraft gushed to the ground alongside the roar of the gust, sealing the last chapter of the Nazi’s life.
But Smith lasted not much longer.
A stray bullet thrust into his chest. Fate crippled his body. Flickering images faded with age appeared before his eyes, a whirlwind of memories slicing through his soul. Dreams laced with images of his legacy achieved, feeling his ambition twisting into grimaces of pain, melting away into nothingness. Smith’s vision sparked to fade, black swam in from the edges… gradually overtaking everything, everyone, until he was consumed by shadows, surrounded by a sea of inky darkness…