The kite that couldn't fly

Once upon a time, in a place not far from here, there lived a kite that couldn't fly. He was of many colors, bright colors that in time past used to cheer everyone up but now, dimmed by the unforgiving stubbornness of tomorrow on becoming today, those colors only served as a reminder of the levity of this all.

He was also full of sorrow because many years ago, after a flying accident, the fabric on his belly had been torn in the shape of a seven. The kite doctor said that he wouldn't be able to fly again and recommended some alternative treatments that could help him cope.

His family discouraged him from flying, for his own good of course:

"You can't fly because the doctor said so. You must give up".

His few friends tried to make him understand the reality of the situation:

"You can't fly because you're broken. You must give up".

Even the fancy new drones, with their thunderous engines and bright lights, contributed their unwanted opinion:

"You can't fly because you're old. You must give up".

And for years he believed so, because that many people, including those who loved him, wouldn't say such things if they were not true! And thus coping became his main activity, living only the rare moments in between. He accepted that he had no business up in the air, and that his flying days were long gone.

"I can't fly".

Until one day, by whim of fate, he met a girl who was curious about his belly wound although not fully convinced it was an actual problem.

"I'm sure I can make you fly. I'm the best pilot in the world!" she proclaimed.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm and nothing would make me happier, but I'm too old and too broken. Everyone has told me that and they care about me. They wouldn't lie to me!"

"Nonsense! I'm going to help you. I'm also the most stubborn person in the world!" she confessed.

The girl would try, fail and move on. What was to lose? The only thing that preoccupied him was the handful of drones that were flying nearby, and the mockery he would be subject to. But she was so sure of herself that a breeze of her contagious hopefulness awoke something long forgotten on him. He accepted.

The girl inspected his belly wound, fixed the bent flaps, swept the dirt and dust away and drew on his back a sky full of stars, planets and galaxies.

"I say you're ready", she said with authority.

She held him up high with one hand, grabbed the strings with the other one and asked:

"Count down?"

He doubted for a second, then started:

"Ten!" he screamed. "Nine!".

By eight she was already running like lightning. She was not the kind of person to start a count down from ten. Who has the time for that? By six she let him loose and he flew briefly, only to start wobbling aimlessly, hitting the ground and taking off at the mercy of wind. Still at full speed, the best pilot in the world started maneuvering the strings until he caught an upwards air current and gained altitude.

"Three?" he continued in disbelief, already in the air.

"Zero, you dummy!" she replied.

"Whoa!" he said.

"I told you!" the girl answered.

"This is fun!".

"This is fun!", the girl screamed back.

In the air he realised that the shape of a seven made his belly wound a perfect additional flap that he could control to change directions switfly without help from the ground.

"I can fly!"

But then he paused his excitement.

"I can fly", he said again, this time pondering the consequences of it.

"Higher!" he asked.

"Higher!" the girl accepted, yielding more string.

"Closer! Closer to the drones!" he demanded.

He could hear the machines having fun.

"Now, let go of me, best pilot in the world."

The girl understood. She was also the most understanding person in the world. The girl let go of him.

He flapped his belly wound, pointed his nose towards the noisy machines and accelerated. He struck down one of the drones right away and scared a second one into a tree. The strings that once controlled him got tangled on the propellers of a third one and, with the little control he had left, he reached for a fourth drone, wrapping his body around it.

The last thing he heard was the clanking crash of metal hitting the ground, the wheezing sound of broken engines and the lament of many kids on the ground.

"I'm not coping anymore", he thought.

From the skies fell shreds of many colors, bright colors in time past.

December 2018. Sant Just Desvern.