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Abstract

o be a winner and knew how to finesse and muscle the craft. Unlike those yahoos from the academies, Martina sensed exactly when to twist, turn, and fire from a holding pattern.The more guts Martina showed in the warm-ups, the better Lyndon began to feel. It stoked Lyndon’s heart whenever Martina returned from the stratosphere. All lit up from the crazy joy Lyndon’s rocket brewed.Lyndon resumed his work. No way could he screw this up. Like the past failures, when Lyndon’s rockets imploded on the launch pad or blew apart mid-flight. If anything happened to Martina, he’d hate himself forever.The rocket festival kicked off with great fanfare. Aspiring designers and astronauts converged to compete for that golden future. All-day heats to clock the fastest and furthest space travelers.Lyndon and Martina excelled and breezed the quarter-finals. Bursts of speed and power, as Martina, recorded the highest altitudes at the fastest rates. After advancing to the championship round, Lyndon and Martina joined the other finalists to see who could push the limits and claim the grand prize.Lyndon had tailored the rocket for these extra miles. Enough firepower to win the early heats and reserve to reach the winner’s circle. Lyndon instructed Martina to let it loose this time. Full thrust, nothing to chance. After all the foundry hours and shots at countless festivals, Lyndon’s dream had surfaced.Lyndon’s design and Martina’s liftoff looked like a runaway victory. And runaway she did. Once that firebird cracked the ozone layer, Martina vaulted like a comet and never returned.<

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/p>Despite the funky results, the recruiters from the space program remained at odds on the winners. After all, reaching outer space is what rocketry is all about. Lyndon’s spaceship blew away the competition, entertaining a split vote.The powers chose to disqualify Lyndon, awarding the prize to the second-place team instead. A dumbstruck Lyndon returned to his foundry, still in a daze.Lyndon reworked the blueprints and boosters. His aching heart and ambition spurred him to labor nights and weekends. He also decided to tackle his anxiety over heights and speed.While learning to fly, Lyndon’s next rocket came to fruition. The chrome beast, his best creation yet. Just in time for the next festival.Once again, Lyndon raced his way into the finals. Inside his module, an anxious Lyndon braced for countdown. As the lava gushed from the boosters, he felt the rocket wiggle free and escape the launchpad.As Lyndon tapped the extra horsepower, the rocket pierced the stratosphere aiming for the ozone. Lyndon gleamed. He knew he had this. Burning up those turkeys from the technical institutes. The rich kids with fake bona fides and golden parachutes.Lyndon steered the metal monolith into its crest. The cue to tilt and begin the mission’s descent. Back to solid ground, the blue ribbon, and his dream.That’s when Lyndon felt the cosmic tug as he pulled the butterfly wheel to his heart. Instead, the lovesick astronaut pointed the rocket skyward and the machine responded. Leaving the planet for the stars and his lost Martina.</article></body>

Lost Altitude

Flash Fiction

Once his spaceship aced inspection, Lyndon joined The Race To Space Rocket Festival, the most elite derby on the circuit. Lyndon was determined to win the grand prize and achieve his life-long fantasy: a career in the National Space Program as an engineer and designer.

The mission still called for an astronaut, and those cry babies from the flight schools always demanded more money than they’re worth. Not a pilot himself and afraid of heights, Lyndon stuck to the blueprints and physics of the dream. That’s when Martina breezed into the foundry.

“I wanna be your test pilot and astronaut,” Martina said.

“I do need an astronaut, but all the money’s gone — sunk into this darn spacecraft,” Lyndon confessed.

Martina marveled at the chrome creation, opportunity, and chance to fly a real rocket ship. Martina wasn’t here for the money and assured Lyndon he could prorate the payments.

“You wanna be a rocket scientist and I wanna be an astronaut. Let’s make this work,” Martina said.

What choice did he have? An Internet fundraiser seemed impossible at this point. Lyndon rolled the dice and hired Martina on the spot.

Martina proved to be a winner and knew how to finesse and muscle the craft. Unlike those yahoos from the academies, Martina sensed exactly when to twist, turn, and fire from a holding pattern.

The more guts Martina showed in the warm-ups, the better Lyndon began to feel. It stoked Lyndon’s heart whenever Martina returned from the stratosphere. All lit up from the crazy joy Lyndon’s rocket brewed.

Lyndon resumed his work. No way could he screw this up. Like the past failures, when Lyndon’s rockets imploded on the launch pad or blew apart mid-flight. If anything happened to Martina, he’d hate himself forever.

The rocket festival kicked off with great fanfare. Aspiring designers and astronauts converged to compete for that golden future. All-day heats to clock the fastest and furthest space travelers.

Lyndon and Martina excelled and breezed the quarter-finals. Bursts of speed and power, as Martina, recorded the highest altitudes at the fastest rates. After advancing to the championship round, Lyndon and Martina joined the other finalists to see who could push the limits and claim the grand prize.

Lyndon had tailored the rocket for these extra miles. Enough firepower to win the early heats and reserve to reach the winner’s circle. Lyndon instructed Martina to let it loose this time. Full thrust, nothing to chance. After all the foundry hours and shots at countless festivals, Lyndon’s dream had surfaced.

Lyndon’s design and Martina’s liftoff looked like a runaway victory. And runaway she did. Once that firebird cracked the ozone layer, Martina vaulted like a comet and never returned.

Despite the funky results, the recruiters from the space program remained at odds on the winners. After all, reaching outer space is what rocketry is all about. Lyndon’s spaceship blew away the competition, entertaining a split vote.

The powers chose to disqualify Lyndon, awarding the prize to the second-place team instead. A dumbstruck Lyndon returned to his foundry, still in a daze.

Lyndon reworked the blueprints and boosters. His aching heart and ambition spurred him to labor nights and weekends. He also decided to tackle his anxiety over heights and speed.

While learning to fly, Lyndon’s next rocket came to fruition. The chrome beast, his best creation yet. Just in time for the next festival.

Once again, Lyndon raced his way into the finals. Inside his module, an anxious Lyndon braced for countdown. As the lava gushed from the boosters, he felt the rocket wiggle free and escape the launchpad.

As Lyndon tapped the extra horsepower, the rocket pierced the stratosphere aiming for the ozone. Lyndon gleamed. He knew he had this. Burning up those turkeys from the technical institutes. The rich kids with fake bona fides and golden parachutes.

Lyndon steered the metal monolith into its crest. The cue to tilt and begin the mission’s descent. Back to solid ground, the blue ribbon, and his dream.

That’s when Lyndon felt the cosmic tug as he pulled the butterfly wheel to his heart. Instead, the lovesick astronaut pointed the rocket skyward and the machine responded. Leaving the planet for the stars and his lost Martina.