It was time!
Paula, whipped out her lucky red ribbon, as she and Rita raced towards their fighter jets.
Within moments they were airborne.
Rita fell in behind Paula- scanning her radar.
All too soon, she picked up a menacing red dot.
With practised ease, she banked sharply to the left – Paula, to the right.
In one fluid motion, Rita ejected and was thrown clear of her aircraft.
As her body twisted in the air, a sudden wall of flames hit her in the face- setting her chute on fire.
Everything went black.
She awoke wedged between the branches of a tree.
“Paula?” she croaked.
Floating nearby, on a single branch, was a red ribbon.
Before she passed out again, Rita murmured the lines from her favourite poem;
“These memories were left here with the trees”
Her eyes closed.
©Vivian Zems (144 words)
Dverse Poets Pub- Prosery
“These memories were left here with the trees”- from the poem “How to Write a Poem in a Time of War.” Jo Harjo