Sam never thought he would touch the clouds.
As a child, he thought maybe he would be in the clouds as an angel when he died. But as he grew older, his ideas changed and his faith wained. When you die you don't go to heaven and god definitely didn't live in the clouds. He's touched them. He would know.
Sam still prayed; there was something comforting about the act, to give thanks for the joys in his life, to ask for forgiveness for things he thought he'd done wrong. He was in war. He thought he'd done many a thing wrong.
As he flew higher, he prayed harder. It was almost easier to pray up in the sky than it was in a church or in the barracks. There were always prying eyes; those who liked to judge him.
"Mom, why does god live in the clouds?"
His mother would chuckle, praying he could hold onto his naivety and youth. "He doesn't. He's everywhere. He's in the air, he's the friends you make. He's those you love and those you hate, little angel."
He closed his silent prayer, a command ringing through his in-ear. He switched from gliding to soaring, intent in his eyes and in his wings as he dove towards the earth.
Sam wasn't so religious anymore. But at the same, he'd touch the sky. He could sense something. And it never hurt to have faith in other people, right?