I admit it. I once held the title of Tiny Helicopter Ace in the Hollow House, a low slung, high-ceilinged domicile just north of the prestigious South Capitol neighborhood of downtown Olympia, Washington. The state. It was a hard earned title, garnered only by my rigorous and dutiful devotion to daily drills, and the fact that I was the only person in the house with a tiny helicopter. But it came with sincere admiration; my tiny helicopter and I were given wide berth during exercises as a sign of unequivocal respect.
I am sad to say, however, that my flying days are over, or at least I am on hiatus. There comes a time in every Tiny Helicopter Ace’s career when he smashes his tiny helicopter to smithereens and is forced into early retirement by the limited funds of a State School Student’s budget. The devotion to and admiration of the Tiny Helicopter Ace by the other citizens of the Hollow House rarely translated into financial support, as the Hollow House was populated solely by State School Students, and the budgets of the inhabitants tended to lean more heavily on the PBR and Fighting Cock Whiskey expenditures. Fighting Cock is the whiskey of choice for the broke and the penitent alike; it has turned even the most hardened esophagus into a flame engulfed elevator, which was maybe even hotter on the way up.
The day of reckoning, though, will sit securely in the minds of all who witnessed the spectacular though untimely retirement of the Hollow House’s Tiny Helicopter Ace. It was early on a day which promised to be hot and sunny, a day unlike most other days in Olympia Washington. Dew still sat quivering on the grass of a modest front yard, visible to the Tiny Helicopter Ace from his squeaking upholstered retro rocker. The window affording a view of the front yard was slung open, and flies meandered unencumbered across the unenforced border. Tiny Helicopter Ace was scrambled on a fly harassment mission, the dark shadow on his jaw a sign of his haste to act.
The thing to know about a tiny helicopter is that it ceases to respond to the signals of its associated remote control once it leaves the confines of a building, presumably due to an overwhelming bombardment of radio frequencies. But the Daring Tiny Helicopter Ace, fuzzy maybe from a long night of studying, was a determined and dutiful Ace and bound to his oath to harass all insects which attempted ingress of the Hollow House. And in the end it was the very same reckless abandon that had earned him a respectful berth by fellow citizens of Hollow House that resulted in the fiery smithereening of the tiny helicopter.
In pursuit of an insectile airspace violator, the Tiny Helicopter Ace flew just a bit too close to tiny helicopter no-man’s land, which helicopter then, like a projectile, bee-lined it up and south into a direct hit with the power lines of the sub-prestigious-South-Capitol-neighborhood-neighborhood, erupting instantaneously into a foul-smelling, spark-emitting fireball. Tiny Helicopter Ace sighed, smiled his rugged Ace disappointment smile, and returned to bed.