Blue Skies Don't Mean Nothin'

A quick glance at the midday sky told the pilots everything they'd hoped; the breeze was gentle and the air clear. Had it not been for their roaring turbines charging for flight, they'd have even heard the song of a local flock of birds roosting in a tree just beyond the airstrip.

It was, according to all available indicators, a perfect day for flying.

Unfortunately, these indicators were not set to monitor the strange weather patterns brewing in Leesville, South Carolina, an hour west of the pilots' pleasant training spot. These anomalous conditions would eventually spawn a monstrous and deadly cyclone, which one local corn farmer would describe as doing more damage than "th' time ol' Manny McCann fell asleep on th'combine".

And actually, the corn farmers had it easy; only the tip of the devilish cyclone's tail ever touched ground, and sparingly at that.

The real damage was done thousands of feet into the sky, where the chaotic helix of writhing air devoured the crew of pilots, thrashing them in their cockpits before they could eject to safety.

And as the last pilot, Chuck Spear, felt the air ripped from his lungs and watched his plane, Enora Ivy, peeled away like a banana skin, he thought to himself, "Well Ah'll be, blue skies don't mean nothin' no more..."

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This one was actually done for Woot. If it doesn't get accepted, though, it'll be in the LF Fall lineup.