Flash Fiction: The Kite
Waiting City, Mankichi Shinshi
This day used to remind me of the mean teachers in elementary school: cold and draining. After training for the kite flying competition with my grandfather, the day had finally arrived. My feet hung from the edge of my twin-size bed as I looked out the window to see a gummy, grey sky. The mist was so thick that it dampened my red jumper as we walked to the park. I released my falcon-shaped kite from my grasp as the wind blew behind me. My little sister brought bubbles, trying to participate in the game of flight; at the time, they felt like pests. My kite was the penultimate one in the sky. I went home, cold and drained, disappointed to have spent a whole year practicing for second place.
I look back on that day from the inside of my four bedroom walls, years later, and a more beautiful memory emerges. Pieces of delicate paper slip through the pearly sky as iridescent orbs of air follow behind. It’s funny how it took being trapped inside to start approaching the day’s difficulties with more grace.
See more of Mankichi Shinshi’s work here.
