All anyone remembers about that fateful day, aside from the screams and terror, was a traveler. No one remembers what they look like or what they wore, all they remember is the traveler, standing by. They were watching the destruction take place, as slowly, piece by piece, and building by building, the large town of Hollywell was pulled apart.
Children screamed, adults ran, and the traveler stood, safe out of range, just standing and watching. No one seemed to know of any significance of which the traveler had, but the traveler seemed to be the only thing of importance they remembered.
“And they never thought it could be done,” I thought proudly as I listened to the steady humming of the plane engine behind me. I could just picture the headlines right then: “Amelia Earhart, First Woman Pilot, Flies Again”. I looked out toward the horizon, thinking of how I wouldn't want it any other way right then. The sky was clear and blue, the crystal sea distinguishing its deep turquoise as they met at what seemed, at least to me, the beginning of a new adventure.
I've always loved adventure. Even when I was little, I'd get lost in the woods, chasing some strange little animal I'd never seen before, or end up climbing trees with a skirt and swimming in creeks with all my clothes on. Needless to say, I also ended up in trouble a lot at my granny’s house, since one of my favorite things to do there was climb the roof of her house and swish down it like any other kid does on a slide at the park. I don't know why my granny was mad I didn't act like a normal little girl, but even as an adult now, I just can't resist the call of adventure.