Kosta goes gliding, doesn’t die.

One mile of steel string is connected to a small clip on the bottom of the glider. It was explained to me: “Before they invented this brand of disconnect a lot of planes were going up, and slamming right back down into the ground. It was a bit of an issue.”
I took a deep breath and muttered, “Sounds like progress.”

A short man next to the plane waved his arms in a circular fashion. I made awkward faces at him. He wasn’t paying attention to me. The cable slowly slithered through the grass until it was taught.

And for a moment everything stopped.
I gripped the side of the plane,
checked the straps of my parachute,
and tried not to scream.

The ground rumbled.

The wind speed indicator climbed, the G-meter read a mere 2. My face contorted in all sorts of weird ways and I danced in my chair, trying to run– to where, hell if I know.

The rumble stopped as we lifted off, the wind made a hollow noise.
The nose pitches up to 45 degrees and we climb, climb, climb.
I’m staring at heaven, wondering if this is my express ticket there.

A loud “crack” resonates, we climb for a moment more, decelerate, and then start to fall back to earth.

The pilot pitches the plane to the right,
the ground comes rushing towards us.
I cover my eyes and start a prayer,
“To whom it may concern.”

He levels out, the altimeter beeps steadily, the slight rushing noise of wind flowing by fills the cockpit.

The disembodied voice of the pilot behind me spoke:
“See, you survived.”
I uncover my eyes and look around, “I bet that was hilarious, did you watch me try to rip myself out of my chair?”
“Yeah, it’s part of the reason I take people up. Just to watch them panic.”
“I will crash this plane right now!”

I grabbed the stick and pulled it to the right a tiny bit. I practically pissed myself when I felt the result.

“Ya. I can’t give you CPR from back here.”

I put my hands in my pockets.