I'm a little late in the day getting this up. I apologize. One of those days, you know? Hope it's not too late! Anyway, here's my blog hop flash fiction for the challenge.
Every year, ever since I can remember, we lay out on the roof of the garage to watch the fireworks on the fourth of July. The reds and greens merging with the purples and whistling whites are but a stocatto to the chest thumping booms that set off the car alarms throughout the neighborhood.
None of us could hardly wait to see what they came up with for the finale. Every year it was something new. We watched with baited breath as the show commenced, getting ever more complex and loud until the final series of non-stop explosions hammered at us until we felt flattened to the garage.
And that was when I heard it. A high pitched scream that at first sounded like a whistler rocket, but it didn't stop. The scream just went on and on. I looked at my brother and he looked at me, then we looked back at the sky just in time to see a man falling toward us, a huge parachute billowing behind him. The guy was dressed like he came from World War II, and when he thumped onto the roof and started to skid we grabbed him and held on tight. He squatted down and pulled a gun around to the front of him, looking at the sky with absolute terror. "Where are they? Where's my troop? Oh, my, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die!"
Time travel in the midst of a fireworks show. Who would have thought? Best. Show. Ever!