Big sigh.

I don't understand people.

People over-complicate things.

People are emotional and volatile.

People are petty and in comprehensible.

Sometimes, I wonder if living on earth isn't truly living, that if the fears of being sent to hell or a similar place has already come true, but we're all too wrapped up in our own misery to notice that everyone is miserable.

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The sun dangled low in the sky as if dangling by a steadily stretching thread. With all the languitey of an appeased lion it hung there above the horizon. Its rays filtered through the minimal cloud cover and scattered across the surface of the ocean, who was curling and spitting foam high into the air as if to someday catch those bright sparks of light and gingerly hold them close.
A gentle yet quite insistent mew, followed by paws on my leg drew me away from the picturesque scene below my window. The cat was begging for attention, probably because I hadn’t yet fed her. I idly stroked her head and down her back. She purred in contentment and settled in my lap.
I don’t like animals. I’m a number person- nowhere in my precise calculations did the possibility of caring for another biological unit ever occur to me. My husband, however, is a sucker for anything with big, adorable eyes and soft fur. This cat was his baby, his baby who must be very aware of his absence if she had decided not to ignore me any longer.
She wasn’t alone, a voice in the back of my head reminded me. You had decided to pet her for once. I looked down at my hand mid scratch, smiling slightly. He has said I would get used to her eventually.
I understood why he needed to go, or more accurately, why he felt he needed to go. Everything counted when you were fighting a war. His heart condition prevented him from joining the ranks of his brothers, but it didn’t prevent him risking his life in a different way. Even my encouragements to spread war propaganda on other ways would not deter him from his goal. Nothing would get the attention of a crowd like a dancing plane with ‘Fight for you country!’ emblazoned on the side in hige, brilliantly colored letter.
Many late nights have been spent planning out the flashiest sequence of stunts possible without exceeding the doctor's prescribed amount of G force. Many early mornings have been spent practicing those same stunts to establish that his heart could handle the pressure. Many clear evenings like this have been spent biting my nails and anxiously waiting by the phone either for news of his demise of of his successful run. I knew the numbers well. When a pilot goes up in an aerobatics plane, there was a one in four chance that he wouldn’t come back down again in one piece. For my pilot, with his heart condition, the statistics were even worse. I refused to even go to his performances anymore. He inevitably made every turn sharper, and and push himself harder. My heart couldn’t take it, let alone his.
The shrill call of a telephone startled me. I jumped and the cat fled from my lap.I was across the room in a moment, lifting the handle to my ear.
“Hello?” I sounded breathless.
“Am I speaking to Mrs. Jones?” The voice on the other line was crisp and professional. It wasn’t my pilot. I paused to gather my thoughts. He would call soon, so I would have to keep this conversation short. I must have uttered something akin to an affirmation, because he continued.
“I’m afraid I have some terrible news.”