Underneath the clouds

VI

The sun greeted the neighborhood, shining through the windows of everyone's rooms. The light painted on her white door, shining through the crack on the bottom. Inside, she slept so peacefully, quietly snoring as the sun etched soft light on her wooden floor. The alarm clock woke her, as it rung persistently, telling her to get the day started. Yawning she planted her warm feet on the chilled floor. Kimberly opened her door, sleepily walking to the bathroom. Slowly and steadily she grabbed her toothbrush, grabbing the toothpaste, gently squeezing the paste onto her brush. Soon she eased her way out of the bathroom, going back to her room to get changed, yawning as she did. Today was Friday, a school day that always seemed to go so slow. The sound of footsteps creaked on the stairs, as Sherilyn slowly came up the steps, gripping the railing, trying to sense if her daughter was awake or not. Yawning, she traced her fingers on the wooden railing, watching mindlessly as the sun shined straight through her windows. This particular morning always seemed to be on repeat for her. A morning where she felt uneasy. Glancing towards Kimberly's door, hearing the sleepy footsteps of her walking around, she listened closer. Her door creaked, signaling that she was indeed awake. Beside her door was a little desk with flowers, and a picture frame. Sherilyn watched as Kimberly rubbed her tired eyes. "Hey mom..." Kimberly'a tired voice floated through the chill morning. She smiled giving Kimberly a small strawberry. The sun gave off heat, making the hair on Sherilyn's neck stand up. Quietly Kimberly floated down the stairs, making her way to the kitchen. Glancing back to the picture frame, Sherilyn shook her head, tracing her fingers on the railing of the stairs. The person that took up the picture frame was Jack Zinti. A deceased man, who still had a smile on his face, the reflection of his fighter jet in his blue eyes. A pilot, one of the deadliest, his guns never missed the target. Sherilyn knew, those eyes have seen so many horrific things. His body had sustain so much damage, his soul has been torn to pieces so many times, but he manage to be a very kind gentleman. He was forever on her mind, quietly whispering incoherent words in her ear. Sherilyn tapped on the counter, breathing heavily, waiting for Kimberly to leave so she could take her meds. "Are you okay mom?" Kimberly asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're breathing really heavily." Sherilyn nodded smiling, straightening. "Yeah I'm fine." The swirling fire in her eyes seem to burn her mind, giving her a morning migraine. Kimberly narrowed her eyes, not believing her. Grabbing the bag by the straps Kimberly pushed her glasses back onto her face, since they were slipping. "I'll see you after school." She left, leaving her alone with the thoughts in her head. Flashbacks of the war seem to haunt her every time her pride and joy left the house for school. Walking to her bedroom bathroom, she kept her thoughts in the palm of her hand. She opened the mirror, seeing the pill bottles she's been prescribed. Sertraline. Throwing back the water with the meds, she gripped the edge of the sink tightly, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes seemed sunken, as her lips seemed dead, her eyes bloodshot. That lonely flicker of hope in her eyes was blown out years ago. Thinking back, she suddenly gripped the sink tighter. Her face still seemed like the younger her, back in the army her eyes hadn't seen those traumatic images. She hadn't seen boys shoot themselves, or planes drop out of the sky with black smoke ejecting out of their wings. Sherilyn remembered seeing all of those, most specifically the black smoke that would come after. The sounds of warfare constantly played on loop, louder and louder in her head, until she couldn't think straight. She sighed her grip loosening as all those memories faded away into the background. Slowing the constant explosions in her ears to a complete stop. But no matter how many pills she took she could still remember the sunny day that she lost him...

(TW: explosions, blood, and gore)
September 4th 2047

A blue sky, with a few scattered clouds occupied that day. His pale skin shimmered in the sunlight, as he marched down the runway. Jack Zinti, a deadly pilot. His blue eyes seem to capture every particle in the air. His boots stomped at the runway, as he moved with speed. The sky was clear, a perfect day for flying, and a perfect day for a mission. The day was always the same for him, every time he put the helmet on he felt the same. "Jack!" Sherilyn ran up, her pistol, and grenades on her vest. "Ah, Corporal Martin!" A smile came to his face as she came closer. "How are you?" His deep menacing voice kindly asked. "I'm doing just fine," Sherilyn's soft smile warmed his heart. "It's a good day for flying eh?" She added on, walking with Jack. He scoffed. "What do you know about flying?" Jack smiled, as Sherilyn shook her head. "Absolutely nothing."  They both chuckled. Sherilyn smiled as he wrapped his arm around her. Shaking her with excitement, he looked at the plane. "Look at her! Isn't she a beauty?" Sherilyn looked with her jaw open. A flat, quiet, fast, fighter jet. "Jesus..." she gawked. Walking next to it, she realized just how big it was. The wing could handle the weight and had the room for ten men to lay down. Rubbing the nose of the jet, he furrowed his eyebrows, scanning the jet from wing to wing. The hangar contained many things, like trucks that carried missiles, reloading the jets. Tears came to his eyes, as he felt the side of his plane. Sherilyn rested her hand on his shoulder, slightly squeezing it. "Good luck on your mission." She smiled, fiddling with her fingers, balancing back and forth on her toes. Saying nothing, he nodded, squeezing her fingers. "And good luck on yours, baby." They kissed, holding hands for a brief moment before departing.

Their front lines were retreating, and half of the troops were dragging the wounded back. Holding her knee, she shot, aiming for the heads of the enemy. Every recoil, her wrist let out cracks, even louder when her gun finally ran out of bullets. In the back, she heard frantic yelling, as some shot back, and others tried to keep their eyes open. She heard that they had requested immediate close air support. Collapsing behind cover she lifted her hand, gagging and whimpering as blood poured out, staining the green grass and dirt. "C'mon corporal!" A soldier offered out his hand, taking a breath before his head shot back, and his helmet was knocked off his head. She flinched, watching as pieces of his skull fell to the ground. Praying still, her mind wandered as debris was knocked off by the incoming bullets. She watched in horror as her comrades were getting shot, dropping with blood dripping from their mouths. Sherilyn gripped the barrel of the gun underneath his body, shoving his corpse off of it. "What's the ETA of the damn air support!" One yelled, shooting as he finished. She listened, trying to hear where the jets were, but to no use. With a breath, she looked over the bags aiming her rifle pulling the trigger, watching in satisfaction as enemies dropped. She saw red in her peripheral as her shoulder shot back, the bullet ricocheting off her bone. The blue sky seem to shine with no importance. At least she'd die on a sunny day. Whimpering from the pain she put down her rifle, huffing as she heard the banging of close guns. She looked up, seeing the underbelly of a jet, smiling as they circled back around firing at the battlefield. Squinting she made out a familiar underbelly in the sky. Jack's jet. He dove, flying recklessly, circling the intended target, firing at the cover hoping to frighten the enemy. "He's acting like a lunatic..." Sherilyn shook her head, laughing as hope was restored. She picked up the rifle and aimed, firing at the fleeing soldiers. Out of the corner of her eye she saw an enemy aiming for the sky. Quickly, she aimed at the back of his head, firing. A huge bang erupted, drawing bright embers and smoke, as the right wing of a plane shattered. A bullet hit a missile underneath the wing of the jet, and he's going down. Like a dive bomber, the jet steered to a certain place, exploding on impact. Being knocked back by the shockwave, Sherilyn fell into a little hole, covering her head as she fumbled. Ringing consumed her ears, as she stumbled to get up, clawing at the dirt, as her eyes blurred. In front of her, was thick black smoke with embers crackling as they left into the air. Limping she held her knee, her left foot dragged behind, her shoulder containing a stinging pain. The body of the jet was still in one piece, but the canopy was ripped clean off. Peaking inside, she saw nothing but a few wires, and the tattered up seat. Turning her head, she saw a hand, resting with dried blood underneath the fingernails. The turbines blades were scattered in the site. One that caught her eye was a blade that was dug into the dirt a few feet in front of her, blood dripping from the sharp ends. She lifted the debris, gazing at the dead pilot. "Oh my god..." she whimpered covering her mouth, as she gazed upon his red popping eyes, with his blue sclera. The cornea of his eye was deep red, with little veins popping out. His helmet was ripped off during impact, which she guessed was also ripped off with the canopy. She looked at his chin, seeing dried up blood, which went from his chin, up to his cheek. Quietly she gagged, examining his dead body, and his throat that was cut clean open. Blinking away sweat and tears, dirt and grime, she bit her tongue walking away from the crash.

The day carried on, and before she knew it, Kimberly was back home, taking off her shoes and her book bags. "Hey honey how was your day?" Sherilyn mindlessly asked. "It was... boring." Kimberly groaned flopping onto the couch. She hummed in response. "How was your day?" A shaky breath left her lips, as her brain seemed to try and forget his smile. "Good."