In Flight

By AKSHAY R SONTHALIA

Authors -

J BHunt

BrentonFisher

DeannaHandy

PatrickMacmillan

William "Brent"Heckler

CassieSands

ThomasWilliams

TONYACOATS

Kristina Meinig

Jonathan Kohanski

• Language: English
• Publisher: Free Spirit
• Release date: Jun 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9788119351091

Book preview

In_Flight_r05_final_draft_Kindle_Cover-01.jpg

All Rights Reserved

Published by

Free Spirit

Poets Choice & Free Spirit LLC

First Edition June 2023

A special thank you to:

Brenton Fisher, Patrick Macmillan, William Brent Heckler, Thomas Williams, Tonya Coats, Jonathan Kohanski

Winner of Contest: J B Hunt

Cover Design by Koni Deraz, Germany

Back Cover Content by Akshay Sonthalia, India

Edited by Satya Ram, India

Book Design by Adil Ilyas, Pakistan

Authors in this book are from - USA

ISBN: 978-81-19351-09-1

Price: $25 USD

BCID: 178-16919138

The views and opinions expressed in this collection of stories are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Free Spirit. Any content provided by our authors are of their opinion and are not intended to malign any religion, ethnic group, club. organization, company, individual or anyone or anything. Details and curiosities about the places in this book have been found on Wikipedia and on the Web. They do not reflect opinions or quote from the publisher.

Not suitable for children.

Contents

J B Hunt

01 - I’ll Fly Today

Jonathan Kohanski

02 - Airport Inspiration

Deanna Handy

03 - Devlin Does Disney

William Brent Heckler

04 - Flying

Kristina Meinig

05 - I Was Finally Me

Tonya Coats

06 - Is There A Doctor Onboard

Deanna Handy

07 - No Voy a la P.R The Flight that Never Flew

Cassie Sands

08 - Stranded in Nepal

Brenton Fisher

09 - Thank You For Flying

Patrick Macmillan

10 - The Force was with Us

Thomas Williams

11 - Who is That Man?

J B Hunt

Tulsa, Oklahoma - United States

J B Nicholson Hunt is a free-lance writer living in Tulsa.

01 - I’ll Fly Today

Flying with my father

Alone in the parking lot, I still can’t allow the tears. Looking up, I blink hard and watch clouds in the East, where the sun is bleaching the pink off the dawn. My gaze follows a heron as it lands in the creek that is still in shadow. The soft beat of its wings had called to me in the silence, like a heartbeat that I’d barely known was there.

Weeks ago, at the cemetery, I’d noticed a smaller heron, on a pond shaded by oaks. I thought little of it that day and didn’t hear its wingbeats over the sound of bugles.

But there it is again.

Not the same bird, yet its gray shoulders match my memory. I’m comforted by the relaxed pace of this tall messenger. He fishes deliberately, only stretching down into the water when he has seen what he wants. Not wasting energy on the ones he can’t catch. He faces my way and I see the silhouette of the fish as he throws his head back and swallows.

Lifting off, flying gracefully across the gravel parking lot, he angles higher until I lose sight of him in the line of birch trees where the creek points North.

I almost saluted his departure. And chuckled to myself.

My childhood on Air Force bases shows up in strange ways. I cherish every memory of clumsily dropping my baton in Veterans Day parades, marching behind my brother’s Cub Scout pack. My dad in his green flight suit was the hero image we took for granted. We dreamed of being like him. The tall dashing man who would point to the sky and teach us the names of airplanes, and stars. He would then mysteriously disappear into that sky for months. Flying with him was a way