He rocked down a few miles from where black smoke roiled into the desert sky. Not a bad ride, he thought. A little balky in the turns. On the ground, he immediately wriggled out of the parachute harness. Seconds later, a gust of wind filled the canopy, and the harness scuttled away across the white sands.
He took off his helmet. They’ll blame me, of course. How they are, the bean-counters!
It could be tricky — knowing when it was hopeless, knowing when to get out.
He started walking toward the smoke, thinking he had cut this one a little close.
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #355 at Velvet Verbosity.