The Flight

The late afternoon sky was dotted with kites being piloted by hyped tots who were swept over by a familiar feeling of elation. Children gawk and marvel at the gaudy figures of their makeshift kites, condoning the punishing heat of the sun. The intermittent blast of air currents lift high the kites at dizzying altitudes, notwithstanding their sizes and materials used to make them. To magnify the adrenaline rush, they would place bets on best-performing kites. Chances of welshing is low, though. Those who belong are compelled to join, and those who are not, well, they are bigtime losers. The sunshine is unstinting, and the children, too engrossed. Their meek faces were aglow; they are appreciative to both their handiwork and toil. Newcomers would troop by the field and will follow the others to set yet another flight of kaleidoscopic chimeras of plastic, wood and paper. Up the humid sky, one of the kites has its string snipped by the torrential wind, just on an instant. The lost of control made it slither sideways, its tail flailing on a phrensied manner. Its side joints of tapering sticks made it glide on the air because of momentum, then pausing in inertia while resisting the pull of gravity, until it came to a tangential crash towards the Earth. The other children seemed not to notice, as they continued loosing more thread from their spools.