On a cold day in the prairie, he was wearing a cowboy hat, a weathered trench coat covered in stains and mud, and a pair of prairie shoes designed for walking on the unpredictable landscape of grassland.
He let go of the kite and sent it to the cloudless sky, carried only by the strong wind and weighted only by its light canvas and skeletons.
It's like a square-headed needle piercing a white piece of paper decorated only with a 12 p.m. sun. The wind sends the kite flipping like a skin waiting to dry under the blazing sun. He stared at his kite as it unfolded its wings while in its process upward. Until the shape of a dragon took place, showing off its magnificent wings. He, however, was like an anchor rooted in the ground, and in any few minutes, this "meat anchor" might be taken off.
Once the kite was in its apex span, it stayed there, flipping and cracking as if a stop-motion animation were being made up on the sky by the hand of God, if God ever existed.
A gale of wind blowing through the passage of grass and mountains beyond bellowed off his cowboy hat. He didn't try to pick it up; instead, he focused on the current work of maneuvering the kite, a red dragon being animated by steady wind and luxuriant air.
The holler of wind passed through the dragon's paper throat, which made an orchestra of small shuffling songs, as if whispering a greeting to the audience below. Sometimes an eagle hovered over it, then flew around and treated it like a fellow companion. Sparrow avoided the dragon as if afraid of being gorged. The king of the sky flew on.
Then the clouds came.
The clouds tumbled through the azure sky, covering the sun, the bird, and my kite in their parlous brace.
"Fuck, not that fast. I just started it for fuck's sake." He cursed as if cussing would shuffle away the perilous cumulus.
Now the only thing in sight was the thin thread attached to the dragon. The sky began to darken with heaps of clouds, and he could feel the stung of droplets splashing across his cheek. It started to rain.
He slid a reel of thread back out of the cotton-candy clouds inches by inches, wrapped it around his hand, and slowly a red hull breached the surface of the cloud while protesting to the wind that tried to surge it upward. The dragon kite shuddered and shriveled as it descended, a red dot in a chaotic black mess, so frail and vulnerable.
It's in the middle of the air when an unexpected thing happens.
He felt an invisible force drag the kite back into the cloud, and unable to pull loose the thread, he was dragged several feet above the ground. He panicked and tried desperately to undo the thread. His heartbeat quickened; it could burst out from his ribcage at any moment. The ascension was so fast, it took his breath out of him. He was like a pendulum swung under the floating white mountain; droplets splashed on his body, soaked his hair, vague his optical vision, and fear washed over him.
"Please, put me down." He prayed to whatever god he could think of while keeping on trying to untighten the thread from his hand, which only tightened it further.
Thunder exploded above him, and a thorn of lightning surrounded him. Unknotted, the thread was now impossible, so he held on tight and tried not to look down. He was now about 30 feet above the ground and kept on ascending at breakneck speed.
"What do I do? What do I do?" he murmured.
On the brink of hopelessness, he has several options in his mind: a) wait until the ground is reachable; and b) jump. b) Try to put all your weight on the center of gravity, focus on it, and pull as hard as possible.
While he was making plans, a gigantic thing stirred inside the cumulus above caught his attention; it's shapeless and deformable. It's shadow slowly dominated the ground below, and two elongated silhouettes beside it kept on opening up. What the fuck is that? He couldn't make out of it all; actually, he was quite stunned and stopped worrying about his current situation of how to get down; instead, he stared at the thing above in horror.
Trick of the eyes? He thought. Well, what it did next shattered that thought.
A booming voice erupted from that thing; it's so loud that the thread in his hand started vibrating with the sound. The unrested thing kept on stirring and expanding in the clouds!
So plan B was astray; I can't give it anymore attention by acrobating myself up and down; guess it already noticed me, so now what!? Several more options fleeted inside his head, and he aborted them. Then several more came, and he aborted them too. He was ready to give out and...
He saw a mound ahead of him. He finally snapped out of a trance, numb as his fingers were. He worked as hard as possible to untangle the thread wrapped around his hand; it was a dead knot no matter how hard he gnarled and pulled.
The mound was getting closer.
Knife! A thought boomed in his head; it was in the interior pocket of his trench coat. He reached inside his coat. The mound was right in front of him.
He fumbled inside his pocket. He could almost feel his feet brushing the stones as they rested on the top of the mound.
He fished out the knife; if he cut the tread loose, he could land right on top of the mound, but he wasn't fast enough, and...
He tumbled down the mound, the world around him kept shifting, and he wrapped his hands around his head until he hit a halt.
Have I broken something? He thought. And while he moved his leg, a piercing pain shot out from his kneecap, and he screamed in pain. He lay there for several minutes, trying to follow the rhythm of breathing: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, then the ground shuddered beneath him. Something collided with the ground, and another stomping sound came. The sky wasn't safe, and now the ground wasn't safe either, he thought.
The booming sound came again, this time closer. He tried to get up, but he couldn't; instead, he crawled forward until the pain was so unbearable that he gave out.
A roaring came from behind him like an air horn blasted through the sky, and a colossal shape blotted out half of the sky. This time he lay still and saw through his mind's eyes that he was a kid flying a kite with his father on top of a green hump. That day was ethereally beautiful; the whole scene looked like Van Gogh's painting; everything was luxurious and vigorous. His father pointed at the kite above and said,We will fly it one last time before lunch, okay?"
"One last time, hum," he murmured and closed his eyes as the beastly roaring and carrion smelled shrouded him.
Several days later
A corpse was found with a crimson dragon kite draped over him; the dragon kite was finely intact while the corpse was in a state of unspeakable horror. (We doubt that even the coroner himself could possibly put all the body parts back together.)
The End
