Crickets Chirping

Anxiety in the cockpit surged.

The pilot checked the instruments in front of him. Gibberish. You see, this airplane had Lite-Brites instead of radar screens.

Violent thunder storms approached. Menacing clouds, sketched in crayola hung from Big Chief horizon lines, like electrified half notes in the score to Hot Cross Buns.

The navigator tried to make out what was left of the map, but turbulence had erased most of his diligent cartographical Etch-a-Sketch work.

The cabin then “experienced a sudden drop in pressure,” as they say. Finding Nemo flickered and disappeared from the movie screen. Sippy-cups rolled into the aisle.

I took a photo of what subsequently fell from the overhead compartments:

Pipe cleaner oxygen masks.

That’s the last time I fly Kid Air.