Pilot (times of [war] matter)

“War is an awful thing. I spent my life getting people from A to B, then I was drafted so that I could bring people from terrorized to free; but I’m not sure I even know what that means. The hardest part is that I want peace again. No matter what I do here in the trees seems worth only pennies. There is no investment I can make that will last. Everything I learn about war will benefit me not, but if I do not learn about war I will not be able to fight now and I’m torn because all I want to do is fly again and not into battle.”

 

A woman in a nightgown looked up from the journal she held in her hand as she heard the front door open. She got up and walked out of the room, looking down the staircase, “I’m so glad you are home.”

“Me too, cowgirl. That was a long flight,” the man took his hat off and placed it on the rack just inside the door, “You okay?”

She held up the journal, “Yeah, I was just reading your old war stories.”

“You know I was wrong,” he grinned.

“What do you mean?”

“Whatever I learned in the fight that was good, I still carry with me. I didn’t know it, but learning how to resist evil taught me how to produce good.”

The woman laughed, “I have no idea what that means.”

“What we pick up in a time of war stays with us in the times of peace. So even when we are fighting, we can hang in there knowing that it’s not for nothing. The fight can have its purpose. When we give in, we gain nothing.”

“You’re not talking about war any more are you?”

“No.”

At this point he had walked up the stairs and was close enough to hug her, “I love you.”

 

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