Weekly Challenge #526 – Flight

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This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

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Flight Risk
By Christopher Munroe

Your Honor, I assure you, I’m not a flight risk.

Unless called upon to land the plane, which would be risky indeed.

I’m not a pilot, after all, I’ve never flown a plane in my life, and not for nothing I’m terrible in a crisis.

That’s why, should something hypothetically happen to the Pilot, it would assuredly not be me taking over in the cockpit.


Of course, Your Honor, I also won’t be in a plane in the first place, because I absolutely won’t leave the country the moment this hearing is over.

Because I’m not a flight risk.


The Customer is Not Always Right
by Jeffrey Fischer

Phil placed the bar menu in front of the customer, who asked, “Tell me about the Scotch flight.”

“It’s three half-ounce pours of single-malt Scotch, starting with the 12-year-old Glenfiddich, a light, almost floral whisky; then a Highland Park, another 12-year-old, with strong oak notes; and, finally, the Laphroaig 10-year-old, a peaty island malt with a very distinctive ocean character. Would you like to order the flight?”

The customer thought for a moment. “Nah. Just give me a Bud Light.”

It was moments like this for which Phil appreciated his strong impulse control, or otherwise he would have slugged the customer.

by Jeffrey Fischer

I inwardly groaned when the big man sat next to me, in the middle seat. He wore a beater undershirt and I could see sweat accumulating on his hairy arms. On takeoff, he gripped the arm rests so tightly his fingers gouged holes in the vinyl. When the flight attendant came by, he asked for two vodkas and downed both quickly. This caused him to sweat even more, but I could see some of the tension disappear.

“It’s my first flight,” he told me, apologetically. “I know I look like a mess, but I’m scared shitless.” I asked him what he did for a living. “I’m in the repo business.” He saw my expression. “Yeah, I know. I take cars away from angry people but I’m afraid of sitting in a metal can at 30,000 feet.”

I told him, “Let me buy you another vodka.”


#1 – Pockets

As an effective means of flight from immediate danger, the hobbit’s efforts had been spectacularly unsuccessful. When he finally came round it was with a throbbing headache and bruised face, and the certain knowledge that he really was in trouble now.

He sensed the creature whose cave he shared was very close by, and his groans signalling his return to consciousness prompted his tormentor’s renewed interest.

“So, is it going to tell us what it has in its pockets… Or must we see for ourselves?”

In the darkness, Boggins felt the disturbing touch of leathery fingers scrabbling at his tunic.

#2 – Flight

The weather was foul – so bad, in fact, that most flights had been cancelled.
My travelling companion was not amused. Hardly a happy flyer at the best of times, she’d turned into a nervous wreck during the wait for our gate to open.

“Please don’t worry”, I reassured her, “Flying is one of the safest forms of travel there is.

“What do you know?” she replied, “I’d rather hear it from an expert!”

Once onboard, I beckoned to the flight attendant… “For my companion’s peace of mind, just how often do these planes crash?”

“Only once!” she said, winking.


The magic of flight intrigued my family. We all had licenses. I had my license while I was in high school. I used to take my dates for a tour, and make a point to fly over my date’s house so she could take some photos of her house and yard. It made an impression, and I was popular with the girls. If I was going steady and the girl cheated on me or broke up with me, I’d make it a point to drop some nasty substances on her house or in the family pool during a night flight.


My wife took flight as soon after discovering some things about me. She came home early and found me sprawled, asleep, on the bed, naked from the waist down, with the vibrator still clutched in my right hand, and her antique, Raggedy Anne doll in my left. I had used the vibrator to pleasure myself, and dozed off. She pretended she hadn’t seen anything, awakening me from the other room by calling out. I discovered that she had packed and was gone when I came home the following day, leaving a note that mentioned “perversion and unfaithfulness…employing a mechanical device”.


Former President Bill Clinton was a frequent flyer on Jeffrey Epstein’s jet. Epstein is a registered sex offender. Clinton took at least 26 trips aboard the “Lolita Express”, a 727. Epstein allegedly had a team of traffickers who procured girls as young as 12 to service his friends on “Orgy Island,” an estate on his 72-acre island in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Flight logs show Clinton flying aboard Epstein’s plane to such destinations as Hong Kong, Japan, Singapore, China, Brunei, London, New York, the Azores, Russia and Africa. What does a creepy guy like Bill Clinton do on these trips?


It’s the most basic animal instinct… Fight or flight – and, to make the wrong decision could literally mean life or death.

For most, that decision is taken entirely out of their hands: it’s a primal, reflex action that happens in a split second at that critical moment when life hangs in the balance.
At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.

Because instinct isn’t going to save you when you come face to face with me.

Fight, flight, whatever you choose, it’s not going to save you. I’m stronger, faster and my primal instinct is far superior to yours.


Cramped in their seats, no one moved. No one could move. The flights had become sheer torture. The number of seats increased but no one complained because the prices were irresistible. When the row started at the back, no one gave it much thought. It was only understandable. When the frantic voice of the stewardess asked people to remain seated, no one reacted. When a clearly tense captain announced an emergency landing, most were relieved. When the emergency crews arrived, the biggest piece to be found was the size of a handbag. Dirt cheap, said the flight advertisement. So true.



Bill and Jack had procured a number of weather balloons from advertisements in the back of Bat Man comics, issue 257 to 265. Getting the canisters of Hydrogen and Helium prove a bit more dicey. Some Midnight requisitioning was employed. They justified the theft under the banner of greater good. They strapped two lawn chairs back to back with a monster amount of duct tape. They got their cool Uncle Frank to haul their airship out to the high desert. The flight was supposed last two hours. The thing finally came down three day later. Their parent seriously ground them.


Mickey wrinkled his nose at the girl’s blood covered hand and asked, “Were you in a fight?”
She frowned and said, “I think I’ve missed my flight.”
“Why. Were you going somewhere?”
“That’s something I shouldn’t share.”
Frustrated, Mickey asked, “Do you always speak in ryhme?”
She laughed. “Don’t you have the time?”
“Stop this. It makes me think you’re crazy,” Mickey gasped.
“Okay,” she said. “I think I should probably go to the hospital.”
“I work across the street. I’ll see if I can borrow my manager’s car.”
“I’ll try to walk, if it’s not to far.”
She winked.


“We’re flying out from JFK this Sunday,” I said to my friend Fred.

He froze. “Which flight?”

“Early, 05:45 I think.”

“Don’t be on that flight,” he whispered urgently.

Fred worked in avionics. “You mean,” I said slowly, “like that Egyptian flight that crashed into the Mediterranean?”

“Avionics is pwned,” he said. “China can press a ‘SMITE!’ button and a plane crashes. Russia too. We’re playing catch-up, too many here think it’s a bad thing.”

“This is a civilian flight to Europe. Since when was the Atlantic a war zone?”

“Test run on an easy target,” he said. “Catch-up, remember?”


The fight or flight reflex is a powerful one in my family.
We’re all cowards. There’s nothing that doesn’t scare the bejesus out of us.
Loud noises. Flashing lights.
We’ll even flee at the drop of a hat.
Really. If you dropped a hat, I’d be running away.
Any time someone drops a hat, it’s a mad rush out of the room.
Even Grampa Wally, and he’s got a wooden leg.
We’re not sure which leg is wooden, because both look kind of nasty.
We make him wear a blanket in his lap so as not to scare the children.

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