Yes, this is late but on the 4th I was busy. Anyway, I was listening to the fireworks while laying in bed and I was just bawling, thinking about my character Rush and, of course, Skipper Riley. It's short and sweet, but just something suddenly put together because I could... enjoy.
As the community of Propwash Junction gathered to watch the fireworks on the 4th of July, a Corsair cowered in his hanger. With every bang and explosion, the plane flinched. Tears flowed down his nose, bitter tears of regret. They were memories, horrible, terrible memories. Memories of war.
And while the whole of the USA celebrated, Skipper mourned. He mourned for his squadron… the sounds of fireworks exploding sounded like the sounds of war, of bombs and gunfire, the smoke itself, tainting the air. There was nothing good for the plane on the 4th, only a pain that would never leave.
While others cheered, he cried. And by now all he wanted the 4th of July to stop. But, like every year, the storm of color outside, celebrating the country's freedom, did not stop. There was nothing anybody could do to comfort the poor Corsair.
Every July, every year, this came up, and Skipper Riley, leader of the Jolly Wrenches in 1942, broke down in tears. And as swirls of color danced across the sky, golds and reds, sharp stinging memories of sparks and fire and water came back.
And this was what it was like on the Fourth of July… and would always be, for Skipper.