By Peach 00
The hangar doors opened abruptly, light shining through with a blinding force through at first the small crack into a wide space. The low-pitched creaking of the steel doors echoed and bounced off the walls of the hangar; shortly afterwards the hangar doors closed, and there was nothing but silence.
With the flip of a switch ten dazzling fluorescent lights immediately glowed with a blinding brightness, lightening every single object in the large open room. A shimmering, clean white surface, reflective with the lights was a clear sight in the room and blinded the intruder who had entered the hangar. Without pause, however, this ‘intruder’ continued forward.
At first, he simply stood there, gazing with awe at the beautiful piece of machinery in front of him. So sleek, so meticulous with every detail was this shining white object which he had cared for so long and loved so deeply. Some would think him crazy for how anal he was of its welfare and insides and out, to make sure every spot was clean and that every atom of it was in order. But he did not think it as crazy as others might.
The man – with brown hair and deep brown eyes, clad in an orange shirt with the typical flyboy leather jacket, jeans and brown boots – gawked at its beauty, and finally he rushed forward without hesitation, resting his full lips against the nose of the aircraft.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, breathless and enthralled by the beauty of its white exterior and sleek design.
Every detail of the plane he loved, whether it was the expanded wings stretched outward, the round yet pointed nose, and even the headstrong yet eager and even gentle feeling that emanated from it so subtly. The incredible design of the ship was what enchanted him the most, engrossing him most of all was the smooth, flawless structure of which was engineered into every section. To him, there was nothing more beautiful than the plane which he flew every day.
He outstretched his hands over the right wing of the plane, and he could almost feel the wind blowing so smoothly across its gleaming wing, as if the plane was simply trying to lift upward, like it was straining to fly. So was it the most beautiful of all things, to fly and feel that sense of control. To decide where you could go, like there were no boundaries, no limits. Not even the sky was the limit for a pilot.
He dropped his hands to his waist, and simply smiled. Despite it being a piece of machinery, there was no bond deeper than the connection between a pilot and its plane.
A little something I wrote while on hiatus. It's short, and definitely had an abrupt ending, but as it was meant more to be a descriptive piece, I didn't really consider it to actually have a plot. Again, just a small study of emotion, to be honest - reviews, comments, and critique are frequently appreciated.
Edited by Peach 00, Apr 04 2012 - 09:38 AM.