“Don’t you do it 761. They will pull your license for good this time,” the radio voice squawked.

“761 going into the Television. Over.” The pilot of 761 pulled the yolk and slammed the throttle forward. The plane’s small prop engines whirred loud and fast.

The Television is what “Plane Stunters” called the rectangular space created by the upper walkways and the lower part of the Tower Bridge in London.

There are a few forbidden zones for stunt planes around the world. The Grand Canyon, the Gateway Arch in St Louis, the Eiffel Tower, touch and goes on the Great Wall of China; just to name a few.

Crowds on the top catwalk gathered quickly looking down on the small planes fast approach. Excited young faces rushed to the other side as the small planes engines roared across the threshold.

The crowd did not see 761 emerge on the other side.

To the surprise of everyone the defining noise suddenly dissipated. 761 was gone. Vanished. Swallowed up by the very air they were all breathing.

* * *

The pilot of 761 awoke to voices. His head throbbing.

“Amelia he just came through the gate,” a male voice said.

Tower Bridge, London

Tower Bridge, London

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July 13th, 2015

Posted In: Short Stories, Sunday Photo Fiction

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