FICTION

B-52: A Satirical Short Story

Bob came over with an interesting offer.

“I have a B-52 bomber. You want it?”

“Sure,” I said.

“You have to come get it tonight.”

“Where would I put it?” I asked.

Bob put a stack of papers in front of me.

“Sign here.”

I signed.

“Congratulations. It’s in hangar 47-C.”

“Where will I put it?” I repeated.

“Not my problem. Hope you enjoy it. Bye.”

* * * * *

I went to look at my place. I showed the people at the hangar my papers. They asked when I was going to take it from the hangar.

“When I have someplace to put it.”

“So long as you find someplace before midnight.”

“How am I supposed to find someplace before midnight?”

“Maybe you could fly it somewhere.”

“I don’t have a pilot’s license.”

“Maybe you could drive it somewhere.”

* * * * *

I started the plane. It roared. Everything vibrated. I pushed the sheel forward. It moved. The plane followed. We exited the hangar together. Sunlight filled the cockpit. The blacktop moved beneath me. I moved down the runway, making my day down it, until I found an entrance onto the road. It wouldn’t fit. I found…