Word Count: 351
Someone once told me, that life is a constant string of sacrifices. I have to say now, that he is right. Everything I've ever done, every choice I've ever made has been a sacrifice. Some are less obvious than others, most are not life and death.
Still, everything has been a sacrifice. I gave up my chance of being a professional runner to fly fighters. I gave up freedom to run on wide open roads, for cramped hallways, and claustrophobic cockpits and the deep black pit of space.
I sacrificed for the dream of flying with the man I loved, his own life, by signing a single sheet of paper. For pride, for hope, for wanting to share something with him that was so integral to my soul. I know now, looking back, that he never felt that same rush that I do in the air, that he never had to fly like I did, just as he did not have to run like I do.
Now, now I've all but lost the only constant left in my life. It is almost harder now to deal with everything than it had been when I thought him dead. I saw death looking out at me from the eyes of his father when we thought him gone. I couldn't take it anymore so I told him, told him before I buttoned up myself inside this cockpit and was sot out on what was for all intents and purposes a suicide mission. I knew it was either him or I, and I can't stand to watch his father lose him again. Maybe this time I'll be put out of their misery.
There is a peace that I feel while the Viper's engines rumble through my body, even as a chaotic violent storm rages around the so fragile ship. One wrong turn, one mistake and I know I will tumble into those violent clouds to my death. It would be another sacrifice, lesser than some, greather than others. Not one I am likely to make, but that itself is a sacrifice.