reminiscing of all the old days and how it feels as if it were all a dream. Staring out his
dirty window, he noticed a single star on the corner; looking out there—it reminded him
of his loneliness too. And it also reminded him of his younger days: the days which he
used to be a World War 2 fighter pilot. Those were the days, he thought, the days when
he used to feel young and alive. Now all he sees is a glimmer, a flash of the old times still
embedded in his aging skull. Nothing feels the same anymore, he thought, as he missed
all that was left behind, especially his beloved wife Lucy. She passed away a few years
ago, yet it completely feels like a lifetime—wishing nothing more than to be with her
still.
Only loneliness and desolation consumes his life now. The attendants at the senior
living facility here come and go, yet they treat you like you’re already dead—most of
the time. “I’m only seventy-five, goddamnit!” he yelled. Of course, he knew no one
would hear him. The other seniors slept cold, like rocks, without a soul. And he had been
drinking brandy still, even at this age, even at this night, as the moon shown full through
the window in all its brilliant mocking glory. There was a kid he hired to bring in the
liquor of course, at least once a week; it had always helped make his night, especially this
one.
As he gazed out upon the night, he felt a shimmer of his younger days come to
him. He got up and opened his second story window, letting in the fresh breeze of the
night. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning over with the chair’s reverse
end upon the edge of the window. He could feel his younger days now, as he closed his
eyes—the glory days in which he fought for his country, pride, and glory, soaring high
above the clouds of World War 2 Europe.
Now he was really flying. He could see the cities from the clouds above, and
he was patrolling the bordering skies. Nothing but lights below and that lonely star
out there in the great beyond, which he liked to believe was Lucy, watching over him.
Suddenly he’s under fire! It starts raining and there’s thunder now, as he goes for evasive
maneuvers. But it’s no use; the Nazi scourge is hot on his tail. “Damn it, I’m hit!” he
says, as his plane starts twirling menacingly down. He feels it all; it’s too real now.
“Lucy baby! Here I come!”
The next morning, after the attendants had breakfast—they saw the old man lying
flat outside on the grass. They looked up and noticed the window open on the 2nd floor…
They turned him over.
“It appears that he died instantly…” said one of the senior attendants to the others,
“at least he went out with a smile.”
