Rocket Man

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By Sandy Wilson

The launch weather conditions are ideal. A cloudless sky, dark as velvet, alive with stars, is bisected by a chalk line, the dissipating vapor trail of a passing jet.

The countdown ends and I feel the rocket shake; then, fighting to escape the syrupy grip of gravity, the rocket propels me skyward.

Suddenly there is silence, a second of serenity. Then, with a sudden detonation, the rocket explodes, disintegrates, scattering my mortal remains in the pyrotechnics.

As my ashes drift in the wind I look down, watch as my grieving relatives and friends, in the mournful moonlight, wave farewell.

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