I am Mademoiselle FANTASY and today I will be writing a miniature story or one-shot. Today’s inspiration is the following song:
(Listen to the song while reading)
Clouds… chubby, fluffy, white clouds. Big clouds… small clouds… medium-size clouds. They all looked like cotton candy. They looked like cotton candy made in heaven with extra care and extra detail and extra imagination.
There were gaps in between the clouds. Blue gaps. It was the kind of blue that welcomed you to touch it. To grab it and never let it go. Maybe the clouds were the dipping themselves in that blue and became blue too. They faded little by little. They became blue too.
Those colours were captured by the eyes of a boy who soon became a man. And that man flew in the skies…eventually…
“What do you mean you got nothing to pay?!” She was looking angry. She had long dark brown hair and glass like eyes. She looked beautiful, but tired and abused. “This ain’t charity, Pietro!” “Oh… Larysa… I’m leaving tomorrow morning… can’t you make an exception. I’ve been your finest customer.” He was playing with his own luck. He didn’t give a shit. “You’ve been nothing but a stupid motherfucker.” She looked angrier. Maybe he shouldn’t have spoken.
She jumped away from the bed. God knows how many people had slept on that bed. She wore almost nothing. “Pay or fuck off!” Yeah… he had pushed it too far. “I’ll pay… I’ll pay…” He gave her some coins. She raised her eyebrows and threw it back to him. “Not enough.” He put on his pants and raised his shoulders. “That’s all I got.” She moved closer. She grabbed his boots and him and dragged him all the way out the door. “Hey!” “I hope you die in war!” She said and slammed the door to his face. “Well… um… I hope you die of syphilis!” “Get the fuck away from here!” “Whore!” “You ain’t even worth of a whore!”
He looked around him. He was shirtless in the snow and was yelling in a hooker in broad daylight. It hadn’t been the first time. People were looking at him and children were mocking him. “You got nothing better to do with your time?” Two women were looking at him and whispering to each other’s ear. “Yes, I was there all night. That’s probably where your husbands spend their Fridays too!” The two women gasped and looked away. They got away from him. “Thank you!”
He stinked alcohol from tip to toes. He didn’t care. He looked at the clock. He was supposed to leave for war in 2 hours. He flew planes. He shot people from above and moved on his life till the next day. His life was wake up hangover, probably in a hooker’s, get kicked out, look at the clock, go to base, fly a plane, throw a couple of bombs, return, go to a hooker’s, get drunk, repeat. He had been living like that for the past 2 years. He had a spot in Hell for certain. He didn’t care. And people said war was glorious. HA! ha! ha…
He was Ukrainian. His name was Pietro… Pietro… um… Ivanenko… Pietro Ivanenko. He was… How old was he? Oh, yeah. He was 23 years-old and born in 1919. He was a fighter-pilot. He wasn’t proud. He had brown hair, a beard he sometimes shaved and green eyes. He was kind of alone. He didn’t care. He wasn’t walking straight. He didn’t care.
He arrived at the base. He was late. He cared for that. “You’re late Ivanesko.” Sergent spoke. Thank God General wasn’t there that day. “Won’t happen again sir!” “It’d better not. We only got one pilot. We can’t afford being late, Ivanesko.” Sergent paused and looked straight in his eyes. Sargent’s eyes were dark brown. “Get ready. And be quick!” “Yes, sir.” He got ready more than quickly. These days the clouds were the only ones helping him stay alive.
He loved the clouds. He used to think that they looked like cotton candy made in heaven. He also loved the blue gaps in between those clouds. He used to wonder whether the clouds dipped themselves in that blue and that was why they faded in it. He used to think the clouds were just becoming blue too.
Now, he flew planes. He became one with the clouds. He lived freely with them, because he was in the sky with them. He was testing himself and his plane. He was the last pilot. He was the last one fighting in the heavens. He believed not in God, but in clouds. He loved the clouds.
At first he felt bad for the bombs he threw. Now he didn’t care. Now he wasn’t even thinking of the people he was killing. HE DIDN’T CARE. Those moments in the clouds were the ones he was free, not alive, but free. He didn’t see anything but clouds. He loved clouds.
He landed. He was a prisoner once again. He wrote his report and left. He was walking straight. He was still thinking of the clouds. He bought some cheap liquor and just walked alone. He always walked alone. He always flew with the clouds.
He reached Larysa’s “home”. He got in. “I got money this time. I promise!” His smile was fake. “That’s what you said last night. And the night before.” She was smiling. Larisa always smiled at night and yelled in the morning. She could she her face in the morning. That was why. “I’ll believe you this time Pietro. Just this time.” She always believed him at night. She always hated him in the morning.
Larysa was like the clouds. She made him feel like he was with the clouds. He loved the clouds. He wished Larysa was like the clouds in the morning too. But Larysa was a prisoner on the ground and a prisoner in the clouds. Larysa knew she would always be a prisoner.
But she smelled nothing like the clouds. She smelled like cheap perfume and alcohol. Clouds smelt like sweat and kerosene.
Larysa was a prisoner. The clouds were free.
Larysa was who he was in that goddamned war. The clouds were who he’d like to be.
He envied the clouds. He hated Larysa.
He envied the free. He hated himself.
Good morning! Good evening! Good afternoon! Wherever you might be or whenever you might be reading this. How are you guys?! I genuinely wish you’re having a good day. This a story set in WWII. It really is just me trying something a little less PG. Tell me what you thought of it in the comments!
Hugs, love and good vibes,
P.S.: I am not French. The name was just one of those stupid ideas someone has, but likes them too much to let them go… 🙂
I DO NOT own the song “Fighter Pilot”. It belongs to the artist Sanders Bohlke and the video to the YouTube channel Sanders Bohlke.
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