televisions' life support

Wednesday, November 3

t.o.w. my o level compo

"Daddy! Daddy! Come quick! There's a huge bird in the sky!" I said, as I ran indoors in search of Dad.

"That's not a bird, son. That's an aeroplane," said dad as I stared into the sky, feeling a strange sense of happiness as the plane glided across the sky.

Sixteen years later, I was about to graduate from flight school as a fighter pilot. Since that day, I was fascinated with aeroplanes. I longed to sit in one. I yearned to fly one. Back then, flying was an extravagant affair not for the poor. Since I did not belong to the upper eschlons of the social class, I had to attend flight school to realise my dream of flying a plane.

I loved flying. I enjoyed being able to glide through the sky with ease and being able to bring my plane up to the sky, where I could soak in the beauty of the pale-white clouds. I loved flying, I enjoyed moving through the sky and leaving my troubles behind. I loved flying. I reveled in my ability to do death-defying stunts. Sudden pullbacks, swift turns. If you could name it, I could do it. I was a master of flight and I loved flying.

Then, war came. It wrecked havoc and pandemonium in the country. Flying was no longer enjoyable, it became a matter of life and death. I started to hate flying. I disliked the trepidation I faced as I sat on the edge of my seat in fear of enemies. I hated flying. I abhorred having to constantly look back to check for enemies trying to hunt me down. I hated flying. I detested each and every flight for it meant the possibility of death. I hated flying.

One day, as I was up in the sky doing my rounds. I turned back to be greeted by three enemy planes. Fight or flight? I contemplated as I turned back again only to notice that they were about to mount a vehement attack on me. I decided to take flight. I thrusted the engines into full-trottle and ascended into the sky. They followed. I tried to outwit them by a series of swift turns. They kept up with me and seemed to be drawing closer.

Then, it dawned on me. These were the people that were threatening my country's safety. These were the people that turned flying, something I loved, into something I detested. If I wanted to regain that sense of happiness I once had during each and every flight, I had to remove this threat. I pulled back suddenly and began firing rapidly. Caught by the sudden change in events, the enemies could not react in time. One down. Two down. Three down. One by one, I sent them plummeting to the ground. From then on, I became a changed person. I approached each flight with new-found vigour as I strived to take down enemies in an effort to end the war. Over the course of the war, I had destroyed seven hundred and twenty-six enemy planes. Each one drew me closer to the end of the war. Closer to regaining my love for flying.

Finally, the war had ended. I was supposed to feel a sense of glee and happiness in being able to navigate the skies without any apprehension. Yet, somehow, I felt tired. The many years of combat had weared me down. I sensed a strange feeling unlike that when I first saw a plane when I was a kid. It was ironic.

That, perhaps, is what flying is all about.

-End-

Yup, thats it. I'm only posting it because I am so afraid it will not do well. I mean, I'm gonna need an awful lot of luck to get an A1 for chinese so I'm like, totally banking on English. Oh well, I dunno, I felt like total crap after the paper. It's like, the whole bloody story is monotonous. You guys probably think I'm like mad, remembering the whole compo. Well, its not exactly the same, maybe 70-80%. Somehow, I seem to be able to remember it. Bit of a puzzle. And if you don't know which question I attempted, I must really suck. Oh well, tell me what you feel...

Good Luck Y'all!

kenn thwacked an asshat munchkin' at 4:50 PM