The Kite That Went Forever

Once, in the endless wastelands of Siberia, there was a town with ever so slightly glowing rooftops on a flat hilltop. In that town, there was a girl. This girl, Flera, had a best friend. This friend was kite. The other people in the village laughed at Flera because she was friends with a kite.
Many children in the town had kites; kites of all shapes and sizes, with simple designs such as a circle, or a tree or lightning bolt. But Flera’s kite had an odd picture; a picture of an everlasting ocean with an island in the center. On a rock sticking up from the island, there was a lighthouse that seemed to touch the sky, and if you looked very, very closely with a microscope, in the highest window of the lighthouse there was an old kite on a shelf.
Although only the smallest dust mites could see, and even they could not be certain, the picture on the old kite seemed exactly the same as the one on Flera’s kite, only many times smaller. 1

One day Flera was walking home from flying her kite, when a muffled voice came from under her arm.
“Flera!” it said, “Flera, set me down; there’s something I would like to ask you.” Flera set down the kite, and asked it,
“Was it you who said that?” Flera was not surprised when the kite replied that yes, it had spoken. She had often imagined the kite speaking to her; often wished that it would happen. The kite spoke again,
“The people in the town laugh at you, they laugh at me too. I want to leave here, and go to the island that is painted on me. Will you come?” Flera was overjoyed,
“Yes, yes! If the island painted on you is real, I do want to go with you. But how would we get there, how can we cross the everlasting ocean?”
“That is easy. You will ride on me. But think before you agree, for it will take many years to get there.” Flera thought for awhile,
“I think I would like to go even if we never got to the island.” she said firmly.
“Very well, we shall go. Hop on my back Flera.” said the kite. Flera hopped on the kite’s back, and away they flew.2

Flera and her kite flew for many months, across thousands of miles of empty wastelands. After they had been flying for a year and a day, they reached at last the neverending forest beyond the endless wastelands of Siberia. The kite, very tired, settled down in a forest clearing.
“Flera,” it said. “Flera, I believe that we are one third there.”
“Really?” Flera was exited.
“Yes, and I think we should be going, because we have a long way yet to go.” So they went.3

Flera and the kite flew and flew. It seemed, if possible, that the neverending forest was larger even than the endless wastelands of Siberia. They passed over new, green treetops; darker green treetops; treetops of orange, brown, red and yellow; and treetops that consisted entirely of bare branches, until at last they came to a sandy beach. Realizing that they were finally out of the forest, the two friends took a rest.
“Flera,” the kite said, “We are at the shore of the everlasting ocean, two thirds there. Do you wish to go on? If I get tired before we reach the island, there is no place to land.”
“Why of course I want to go on!” cried Flera, “We’ve crossed the endless wastelands of Siberia; there was an end. We’ve crossed the neverending forest beyond; it ended as well. Nothing can last forever!”
“You are right. Nothing lasts forever, but some things can last a very long time indeed. It is as you say; we shall go on after I take a good long rest.”4

When the kite was rested, it said to Flera,
“If the wind is too strong when we fly over the island, you will have to jump. If possible, grab my tail to pull me down; I am so light, I would be swept away otherwise. If we land in the sea, hold on to me; maybe I will float. And we must not attempt to climb the lighthouse immediately after landing; it is much too tall. Will you remember these things?” Flera impatiently agreed,
“Yes, yes, I will. Can we get going?”
“Yes, but heed what I said; it could save both of our lives.” And off they flew, riding the wind over the rippling waves.5

After flying for many, many months the kite and Flera could detect a stillness in the air. Flera began to feel worried.
“Is there a storm coming?’ she asked the kite.
“Yes, I am afraid so. Keep a sharp lookout for land. I have a feeling those winds will be too much for my frame, and you could be blown off. We should be grateful we haven’t had a storm yet.” Flera took the kite’s advice, craning her neck and peering this way and that into the gloom.
“Oh, I am! Somebody just saved from a horrible death couldn’t be more grateful than I...lighthouse ho!” The kite had obviously seen it too, because it swooped down towards the light shining against the dark clouds. The kite, after it was sure it could outdistance the storm, replied wryly,
“I assume that means you could not be more grateful, considering you have just been saved from a horrible death.”
“Not yet, I haven’t. Get us to the island and save your breath!” The kite however, had misjudged the speed of the storm. They had barely reached the island when it was upon them. Flera remembered the kite’s words just in time, and dropped, holding tight to the kite’s tail. She just had time to wonder if it hurt the kite to have it’s tail pulled so when she hit the grass outside the lighthouse door. 6

When Flera woke up, she wondered where she was. It had been so long since she had seen, much less felt, grass. She stood up dizzily and glanced about, searching for the kite. She saw it lying a few feet away, its wooden frame slightly cracked. The kite sighed wearily and said,
“It took you long enough to wake up! One of my spars is broken. Could you kindly get a strip of something and tie it up so I can fly?” Flera quickly obliged,
“Of course. Are we at the right island?”
“Well, can you see the top of the lighthouse we just so happened to land in front of?” Flera looked up,
“No.”
“Then we are here; the last step of the journey. Are you rested?”
“Yes.”
“Then let us climb it. You take the stairs, and I shall fly round the side.” 7

The stairs were amazingly long. Not nearly as long as the crossing of the everlasting ocean, the never ending forest, or the endless wastelands of Siberia of course, but very long.
Every once in a while, Flera caught a glimpse of the kite out one of the windows. The lighthouse was very lonely as well as tall. It had no living quarters like other lighthouses, at least not so far. It seemed to be abandoned, but the huge light above was on and rotating. The air was stale, and there were cobwebs hanging from every surface, though none directly in her path. Eventually she reached an alcove with a large window looking out to the rest of the island.
Pondering whether it would open or not, she placed a tentative hand on the latch. The window fell outwards with a creak, causing Flera to jump back, nearly falling down the stairs. She shakily looked out the window, expecting to see or hear the crash. All she saw was a foggy whiteness, and she heard nothing. Shivering, she felt relieved when the kite came swooping out of the whiteness, though she didn’t know why. It said nothing, just paused and continued up.
Flera took the hint, and started up the steps again, stopping only to stretch herself for the long climb ahead.8

When Flera finally reached the top of the winding stairs, she found a small room, clean and completely clear of dust. The old kite was there, sitting on a shelf, just like in the picture. She looked at it, and then went and opened the window in the room. Her kite swooped in, and breezes started playing around the room, the lighter and thinner air from the opening streaming in. She could feel a difference, even if none could be seen.
“Well,” the kite said, “We’ve gotten here. Now what?”
“But I’ve never thought about what we’d do when we got here. I thought you had a plan.” The kite shook itself, like a person shaking their head.
“I only thought of arriving.” 9

Flera looked around. She stepped over to the old kite on the shelf and examined it. It was the image of her kite, but as she looked closer, it seemed different. She looked even closer. She saw, in the corner of the little window, a figure. It was shadowed, like her side of the room was shadowed from the half-light of the overcast sky. She looked closer, but she couldn’t make it out. A person? It was impossible to tell. She gestured for the kite to come see.
“My eyes are no sharper than yours,” it said sadly, “this kite has been here forever, and such a long time cause paint to fade. Take it into the light, and maybe then you will see what it is.”10

Flera warily picked up the kite. It was crumbly and so delicate, she didn’t dare breath. Oh so lightly, and gently, she treaded over towards the window. One step, and the kite trembled in her hands; two steps, it was still. Three steps, four steps, and she was in the light. A breeze lifted the corner. She peered closer, and it began to crumble. Frantically, she stepped away from the window, but it was too late. The old, old kite disintegrated in her hands, and the breezes lifted it up and around. 11

The ancient, three-quarters rotted sticks fell to the floor, and the flakes of paint and cloth blew away through the window; out over the everlasting ocean, through the light green and dark green and brown and leafless trees of the neverending forest, and above the great, shadowed and endless wastelands of Siberia. 12

There, they swirled around and settled over its infinite grey miles. One flake happened to settle on a street stone in a small town on a flat hilltop. A small child with a kite with a circle on it darted by as the half-light of the overcast sky made the rooftops glow ever so slightly.13


Nothing lasts forever, but some things can last for a very, very long time indeed.14