The nosedive of my relapse into my addictions has me pulling back on the stick so hard I've bent the fugger...my landing gear was sheared off by the treetops and I've had to jettison the spare fuel tanks but as they careen into the deck I find myself pulling up and out of the dive with their explosive flames blackening my tail.
I can see a speck of blue sky through the flames, smoke and tree branches stuck to my canopy....it was a close one...the closest yet in this 39 year long dogfight and I've yet to access the flack damage yet I feel the engine sputtering back to life and I am once again heading in an upward trajectory...
I have returned to the fight...
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