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The whooping sound of the propellers slicing through the air mixed with the hum of the engine, making a distinct sound not easily confused with a jet engine. I turned to face the general location of the disturbance this calm, sunny day had provided. The low rumble of a piston driven airplane came from directly above my position. A black cargo plane was flying over at a low altitude and already in the midst of dumping something from the freight door.

The objects falling, in the beginning as a group, spread out adding distance between each other.

I calculated the area where the falling material was landing. It became clear that they were not all the same size and shape. Some fell faster than others did; one in particular was flipping and tumbling, staying aloft with the air current. I watched as they stayed in the air for minutes longer than the rest. The idea of these objects being leaflets with a message of war faded to idea they were devices designed by students to control the rate of an objects descent, like a parachute.

I set out to identify these little pieces from above to find none of the imagined devices but trash everywhere in my neighborhood. Had I gone crazy? I must have been seeing things. Mad with the impression this was a hallucination driven by a disease, I walked home cursing the disrespectful kids these days unconvinced a plane was dumping trash within the city's limits.


Concealed by the dark of night the Russian spy inconspicuously searches the drop site looking for the compact disc containing the encrypted files.


Flash fiction

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