Photo credit @JellicoStation
By T. Delaplain
You folded the fuselage into a triangle then tightened the binder paper into a nose. You licked a finger and raised it to the sky; a northern breeze, good visibility. Precise dirt smudged creases, torn into perfect straight lines, you fashioned the wings to maximize lift.
“A fan tail?” I suggested.
“Girls,” you shook your head, “No.”
Rushing the launch, you cocked your arm, took aim and let it soar.
“Jump on,” you roared. We raced the wind, me on the handle bars and you at the helm. I felt your lips brush my shoulder and we were both breathless.
A 102 word story about fragile young love and paper planes. Oh to be twelve again when all things were possible. We were pilots and princesses, fireman and doctors. Let your imagination soar and join us at Friday Fictioneers.