the nightmare above waves

Legacy dissolves in the storm’s maw, a reminder that permanence is a story we tell ourselves to feel brave.

Lightning tears through the sky, a jagged scar of light slicing the dark. The cockpit becomes a theater of chaos—harsh, blinding flashes, shadows that lunge and twist.

Then comes the thunder, a deep, gut-punching boom that feels personal, like the sky itself wants me down. My Lockheed Electra shudders, every rivet trembling. The harness digs hard into my shoulders, the straps biting as I grip the controls tighter.

The rain is merciless.

It hammers the windshield in sharp, angry bursts, snaking across the glass like something alive. Each droplet joins a furious tide, the hiss of it louder than my thoughts.

Instruments betray me—altimeter spinning like it’s lost its mind, compass swinging wildly, useless. Outside, the ocean hides in the dark, a black void. Lightning spits across the waves now and then, revealing brief glimpses of foaming crests, sinister and fleeting.

I can’t see the horizon. I can’t find the line between sky and sea.

Cold snakes its way through me—not just from the stor…