View from a plane on the fifth of November. Fireworks. Colours reach up from the ground like a flower bed in summer, stuck in fast motion. Reaching up, attempting to grab the underside of the plane. Attempting to tickle our underbellies  We must persevere. We must go on. But we must also watch where we tread. "Tread softly, as you tread on my dreams."
    The snack I ordered arrives and smells terrific. Ah, the extraordinary Great British cuisine that is toast aka bread that's hotter than it's meant to be. I smother it with butter and watch as it's tough, darkened exterior becomes nothing more than a soft, pitiful worn out mattress, a bed of only the desperate, and a transformation that parallels my plight that was my school years. "The best years of your life" they say. I bet it was the cool Italian-American kid that came out with that, the one everyone loved and admired. The one that always got the girl. The television script life. You could argue that my life was also tantamount to that of a fictional script, though while this aforementioned "cool kid"s life was the romantic comedy that everyone could watch and enjoy, mine was the slightly more obscure and esoteric dark comedy-come-drama.
    I'd best not get used to this site. These fireworks. I can no longer be God peering down from the clouds in the wonderment of his own creation. And my own creations they were, but for the last time. With the O Zone layer ever reaching it's demise, innumerable things have been banned. People can no longer use anti-persperant (even the non-CFC ones) and, resultantly, people have resorted to rubbing flowers all over themselves in an attempt to get clean, killing much bloom and disgracing the look of our green land. People can no longer use hairspray (again, even the non-CFC stuff) with many deciding that if they can't have fancy hair, they won't have any hair. This means that currently that are more bald people in the world right now that ever before. Obviously there are a million other banned substances and items, these are merely two examples. And there have been many mafia groups attempting to fill the void with illegal versions of these goods but nothing yet has proved overly successful, with the police, government and those simply over-passionate about the Earth intercepting and spoiling these goods and plots.
    Oddly enough, fireworks had not been banned. For years they have been used for many occasions; Daily at Disney Land, at grand events and, the obvious one, kids setting them off for sheer shits and giggles. Oh. And Guy Fawkes night, a night where a liberal and free country celebrate the fact that a man is executed for doing something that, I don't doubt, half the country would do in an instant, given half the chance. As well as the chemicals and smoke that are upthrust into the air, we have the tubes and packaging and whatnot that encase the fireworks that are also recklessly discarded anywhere and any convenient time, damaging the Earth. And think about the sheer amount of fireworks that are thrown into the sky too. Imagine aliens choosing to invade the Earth, a well planned attack with numerous ships, weapons and bodies in their arsenal and at their disposal. Imagine that they just so happened to attack Earth on the fifth of November. They're nearing the exosphere, adrenaline pumping, spirits high; the attainment of Earth is near inevitable and near at hand. Then, just as they're about to penetrate this thing outer layer of our atmosphere, it turns evening and men, woman and children all over Earth and lighting fireworks and watching them drive forth towards to troposphere, and towards their death; a suicide mission with a beautiful outcome, the martyr we'd all die to be. Yet these explosions, foreign to alien-kind would seem threatening, despite their winsome aesthetics, and would be presents in their thousands as viewed from the cosmos. This would be enough to halt these beings, and force them to reconsider before they back up and turn home terrified. Dogs with their tails tucked firmly between their legs.
    And how does this tie in with me? Why must I not get used to this luxurious life aboard a plane in first class, toast and butter at my fingertips? Well, as fireworks are banned, I am not out a job. I am the fireworks display planner. Not A fireworks display planner. THE fireworks display planned. Santa. Easter bunny. Unreachable figures that excel in their magical fields, bringing happiness annually and working towards the big day for the rest of the year. That is I. It's november the sixth and I'm flying home. When I reach my home, I shall unpack, open then read my mail, and perhaps I'll shower and make a couple of phone calls. And then...and then, I don't know. Normally, I'd be straight back to work, meticulously planning for every display that should be taking place three hundred and sixty-five days from now, next year being a leap year. Instead, it's home. Into the life of unemployment. A thirty-six year old, home alone, a small fish in a big pond. Without a thing to do for the evening.
    And do you know what? It doesn't even matter. Consider it for a moment. Working constantly, with the exception of the three weeks unpaid holiday I allow myself, at something only I can do (thus, I am irreplaceable) before ordering and shipping all the chemical filled boxes off to the right places. I'm absolutely, horrifically, disgustingly, epically rich! I do the job for the love of it, yet hide the wealth for the fear of it. I live in my little flat, pose to the locals as editor of a magazine (luckily, the editor at a magazine I'm interested in shares a name with myself) and live life like all else around me. But if only they knew. If only thew knew that, through my old line of work, I could've single handedly stopped an alien invasion.