180. Up in the Sky
“This is the perfect way to get around Boswell!” Amy says to herself. She straps the rocket pack on and reads the instructions more carefully. “'NEVER operate indoors.' Well, that makes sense. 'Make sure you have a clear flight path.' Okay. 'ALWAYS wear steering helmet during flight.' Huh. Where's the steering helmet?” Amy looks around but can't find anything that looks like any kind of helmet, let alone a steering helmet. She shrugs and decides to move on. “I'm not going to be trying to go that far, I probably don't need to follow ALL these instructions.”
Amy continues reading as she walks back up the stairs and out of the house. The gist of it is fairly simple. There's a small hand-held remote attached to the pack. You hit the IGNITION button to light the rockets, which, after an initial flash, will result in a slow burn, just enough to combat the pull of gravity and keep you hovering where you are. You push the THRUST button to increase the burn of both rockets; the harder you push, the higher the burn and the faster you go. You push the LEFT button to lower the thrust on the left rocket while increasing the thrust of the right rocket; this would result in you arcing left as you fly through the air. The RIGHT button does the same thing in reverse. Finally, a STOP button kills both engines. The large central cylinder is the fuel tank, which is full at the moment.
Amy gets outside and walks about a dozen yards out, then turns to face the house. “Alright, here goes!” she says to herself. She squats down, points her head just above the house, and hits the IGNITION button.
POOM!
The twin rockets ignite, sending Amy bursting forward. Unfortunately, Amy's squatting position places her butt right below the jets.
“YEEEOOOOWWW!”
Amy hollers in pain as the twin engines seer her buttocks. She reaches back to rub her burning cheeks, only to put her hands directly in the flame jets.
“AGGGGH!”
Amy unthinkingly begins shaking her hands to extinguish the fire, then puts her fingers in her mouth to soothe the burning. In doing so, she manages to drop the remote. She looks up to find the house growing steadily closer; while she had been tending to her injuries, the jet pack had propelled her a few feet into the air, where she now hovers. She is barely at the top of the front door, not nearly as high as she wants to be, and is close to crashing into the house. She scrambles to grab the control, which now dangles below her feet. She is inches away from slamming into the house when she gets the remote in hand. She kicks her legs out to push herself backwards off of the house, then punches the THRUST button.
BOOOOOOOM!
Amy goes flying up into the air, away from the house. Her body is positioned at a slight backwards angle from straight up. In her present position, all she can see is the the stars and the moon. She releases the thrust button and her momentum gradually dies down. She takes a moment to regain her bearings. She is now hovering in mid-air, probably a thousand feet off the ground. The breeze up this high helps soothe her blackened butt cheeks, which Amy is chagrined to note now have open-air ventilation. The initial blast of the jets must have burned off the seat of her shorts and her panties. “Great,” she thinks to herself, “Now I'm wearing ass-less cut-off jean shorts. The height of fashion!” She contemplates her situation. “I definitely want to get down from here. I could either cut the engine and fall, or I could try to angle myself downward and thrust.”
Concerned that cutting the engine and going into free-fall would be a bad idea, Amy decides on the latter strategy. She bends forward, slowly angling the jet downward until she's pointing a little bit below the horizon. With the jets no longer pushing downward, she's now heading earthward at an increasing rate of speed.
“Okay, maybe just a gentle thrust now...” Amy hits the THRUST button, only to find that her idea of gentle is not the jet pack's idea. She goes flying forward at top speed. She sees the house fly past beneath her and the tree line rapidly approaching.
“Oh NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
Amy brushes over the tops of the coniferous trees that make up the surrounding forest. The pointy needles and tree tops tear at her clothing and scrape her flesh.
“OW! OW! OW! OW! OW!”
Amy closes her eyes to avoid scratching her cornea. This proves to be a mistake, as she crashes head-first into the trunk of a particularly tall tree.
THUNK!
The sudden impact triggers an emergency stop procedure in the jet pack. The engines die and Amy's body falls through the branches of the tree before landing flattened-head down on the ground, singed ass in the air.
The next day some early-morning hikers visiting the General Williams Tree, the tallest tree in the forest, are greeted by a strange sight; the body of a young woman in a black t-shirt and ass-less, cut off jean shorts lying head-down at the foot of the tree. The shorts are singed, as are the heart-print panties beneath, the t-shirt is torn in numerous places and stuck throughout with pine needles, and her head has been squooshed flat. On her back is a strange metal device. After much discussion, the conclusion is reached that it is “some damn fool who did something damned foolish.”
Amy is in no condition to continue this adventure or her life.