Jet's clothes were ruined. Though he expected to get them dirty with grease and turbine waste, saying disgusting was an understatement. His brown hair, streaming with oil, stunk and sat awkwardly on his head. His worn out blue jeans were held up by a scrawny belt, and grease stains covered almost every inch except his backside pockets.
For the majority of his life, Jet was used to helping his pilot father like an unpaid servant. Now, after years of fatherly training, Jet was so advanced in aerodynamic technology that he could fix, take apart, and put back together an entire airplane. However, this plane was giving him a lot of trouble. He brushed a towel over himself, praying it would take some of the smell off, and returned to his work station. Kneeling down to the planes engine generator, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
A silver, metal colored liquid dripped and froze on the generator. His eyes opened wide. Touching the substance, it was cold, and frozen solid- when the generator was still warm from his father's landing.
"How?!" he said in a frustrating tone.
He tossed his work wrench aside and sat on the cement, his legs crossing. Opening his work box, he pulled out his apple juice, sipping it gratefully. The Hanger (the airplane storage facility) was eerily empty and quiet, even for when his dad wasn't home. The metal cans from his parents' marriage sat above the door frame, quietly clinking against each other as the wind blew. As peaceful as the quiet was, something seemed off to Jet as he stood up to grab another apple juice.
"Sweet little Jet goes and flies in the air!" his mother's voice rang out in the cement building.
"Sweet little Jet can fly anywhere!"
He dropped the glass bottle and slunk against the wall, looking around frantically.
"Hey, this isn't funny!" He yelled out, his voice echoing back, the memories of his deceased mother. No one responded but the bone chilling silence.
"Baby Jet..." his mother's voice called on the other side of the hanger.
"M-mom?" He asked, walking slowly through the maze of planes.
He turned across his recent aerodynamic puzzle, the frozen silver liquid gleaming from the moonlight that shone through the window. He touched it with his fingers lightly.
"Jet!" his father called. Jet suddenly realized something.
His dad hadn't come back that night.
