Kiss The Sky

During the daily trip to-and-fro school on a grumbling bus full of screaming young students is where Kaida the dragon spreads her wings — not to fly, however. Oh no. Born with wings much too small, Kaida navigated the water, land and trees with ease, but always had to play catch-up with her dragon friends that soared the skies. A child, whose mind is where Kaida resides, dreamt of flying, too. 

· · ·

“Lumen.” 

Looking up from the pages upon pages of drawings and scribbled lines of dialogue sprawled over their desk, Lumen came eye to eye with their physics teacher, who slapped a crumpled piece of paper on their table before hurrying off to pass out the other papers to other students. 

The numbers “55%” written in bold red ink on top of the page caught Lumen’s attention before they registered what the paper actually was: the most recent physics exam. Scanning their eyes across the paper, Lumen could see the eraser marks that showed their pondering between two answer choices during the exam. 

It turned out to be wrong either way. 

Suppressing a sigh, Lumen adjusted their chair and ran their hands through their hair. 

It’s okay. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. They couldn’t help but be reminded of their physics teacher’s previous words: “Maybe physics just isn’t your thing.” Hey, that’s what their general science teacher said, except about science. And math teacher. 

And English teacher.

…That’s what all the other students said, too. No one wanted to be around the academic failure. 

It’s okay. Lumen redirected their attention back to the paper. 

Along with messy handwriting and rushed eraser marks were doodles of a dragon in the margin, crossed over with “X”‘s accompanied with many “???”‘s next to it in the same red ink that wrote the “55%.” 

· · ·

Where Kaida lacked wings, she made up for everything else. As an earth dragon, she could communicate with the animals and plants, dig tunnels through the dirt, and even photosynthesize. Plus, with the help of her friends, she could get around her lack of flight just fine. Still, she found herself asking her dragon peers what it’s like to have her wings brush the clouds with the breeze rushing past. 

“Treat the air like water, like swimming,” she was told. 

And yet no matter how much Kaida pushed on the air, she couldn’t get off the ground for more than a few feet, a few seconds at a time. Oh, how she dreamt to kiss the sky. Every day, Kaida watched as the other dragons flew up higher. 

· · ·

Sad. 

· · ·

Lumen watched as the school principal congratulated a student for their high academic achievements. They bounced their legs and picked at their skin. 

The students were seated in rows at a school assembly. Voices of the other students bounced around the air around Lumen’s head, which they so desperately tried to keep

the voices from jumbling up with the thoughts in their head as well. Piercing through the voices of students was the voice of the principal giving another one of those inspirational speeches, which Lumen never paid attention to, but managed to catch just the end this time: 

“You are all special.” 

You could be special. 

Lumen could be special, too. 

“We could be special, Kaida.” After the assembly, Lumen retreated into a secluded corner of the hallway during the school’s break time, dumping all their journals and art supplies onto the ground around them. As usual, they still couldn’t finish their homework. 

Lumen knew Kaida desperately wished to be able to take off one day. “I’ll teach you to fly. Then I, too, will be able to grow wings.” 

It would be good. 

In the following months, Lumen was plunged into studying, all night, all day. Visible eye bags developed on Lumen’s face and they’d been wearing the same clothes for weeks. Unknown to their classmates, there was a shattered dish in Lumen’s kitchen that they hadn’t bothered to pick up. 

Anything, anything to be special. 

Meanwhile, their notebooks and sketchbooks were also filled with flying lessons for Kaida, whom they visited while they slept. 

· · ·

Lonely. 

· · ·

“Here are the extra diagrams I drew up,” Lumen said, bouncing up and down on their feet. They spread many scribbled posters onto the walls of Kaida’s cave. “Here, then you can see them every day. You won’t ever forget.” 

Kaida rocked on her heels. “You sure about this?” 

“Absolutely. C’mon, I even found a new place for you to practice.” 

· · ·

Lumen yawned, stretching against the back of their chair. Their most recent test score, this time an essay in English, was laying on their desk; written in blood red ink was the number “65%.” There was an uncomfortable ringing in their ears today. 

Their eyes narrowed towards the paper as they picked it up, bringing it closer to their face until the paper swallowed up their entire view and the red marks and pencil scratches blurred together. 

“Ha, at least you passed this time,” a voice came from behind them. Lumen jolted, slamming the paper onto their desk and sitting straight up. They swiveled their head around to see who it was, but no one in their immediate field of view seemed to be the culprit; with the tinnitus clogging their ears, they could not tell if the voice was their teacher or a classmate. Taking one last glance around the classroom, Lumen focused their eyes back onto the paper. 

…This was acceptable progress. 

In the corner of the essay was a jet black blob of ink. No one except them knew it used to be a sketch of Kaida, scribbled over because Lumen deemed the wings they drew too ugly, too asymmetrical. 

One day, Lumen will grow wings, too. 

· · ·

On a cliff over rolling waves, Kaida stood dangerously close to the edge. Expanding her viridian wings, she let them catch the wind, just lifting her up slightly. An almost weightless feeling it was — yes, surely, when she flew, she would feel this way every day. 

In the past few days, the weather has shifted unpredictably. Sometimes the air would be still and Kaida wouldn’t feel the bliss of weightlessness; other times, the wind was so turbulent that Kaida had to retreat back indoors to her cave lest she be blown away. (Although, Kaida did wonder what would happen if she let the wind whisk her away.) 

She hoped Lumen was doing okay. 

· · ·

In Lumen’s dreams, Kaida and Lumen frequently met at the path near the cliff edge where the wind was strong enough to pick Kaida up. Yet, time and time again, Kaida fell out of the air. 

Again. 

And again. In a field, a circular patch of flattened grass formed. 

And again. Brittle branches from a tree fell alongside Kaida. 

And again. There was an ugly skid mark in the dirt, not yet washed away by time. And again. Kaida’s wings slapped a squirrel out of its home in the tree. And again. 

“It’s no use,” Kaida lamented, stretching and inspecting her leafy-green wings after taking a particularly rough tumble out of a tree. “My wings are just too small.” They had just tried putting Kaida in a harness and having her glide like a kite. Kaida grumbled at the thought of it — how humiliating. 

“Go AGAIN,” Lumen demanded. Their feet kicked the dirt on the ground. “We have to achieve it. Don’t you want to be noticed!?!?” 

Kaida’s ears flattened against her head as she picked herself up. She shook her body, shaking out the dirt that had gotten under her scales. “It isn’t worth it, losing ourselves just to prove ourselves.”

Lumen looked incredulous. “Would you rather die? Because that’s what’s going to happen if we fail. We are not allowed to rest until we succeed.” 

· · ·

Lumen was going to do it. They were going to be the smartest. It was 4:03 AM; their wall was covered in notes from biology and chemistry. If only they could study a bit more. Their legs shook uncomfortably under the table as Lumen picked up their mechanical pencil. It felt heavier than usual. Shaky strokes crossed out another drawing of a dragon on the sketchbook; no, still not good enough. Another page full of drawings gets ripped. They were going to be a genius. They were going to be perfect. They were going to be different. 

Yet… 

37% this time. 43% the next. It’d been a year. Nothing had changed. Teachers still hate them. Their classmates hate them more. Lumen heard the laughs of their classmates behind them. They were mocking them, surely. They were looking at them. Why were they looking at them weird!?! Lumen’s foot tapped under their desk. 

I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life. I’ll die alone. 

Lumen went to sleep again. 

· · ·

Disappear. 

· · ·

Kaida knew not being able to fly put a strain on Lumen’s mind. Perhaps she should just disappear. The other dragons scoffed when she ran and jumped:

“Runt of the litter when you were born. You’re not contributing anything to our society. You should be killed.” 

(Weren’t they once her friends?) 

Kaida tried to ignore the lump in her heart. 

· · ·

“Is it really fine for us to stay like this?” Kaida whispered over her shoulder. Lumen was draped over Kaida’s back, measuring her wings. They were in Kaida’s cave. 

“You have no other choice. You can’t survive with the other dragons if you don’t,” Lumen insisted. They jotted their measurements in a notebook. “This is not negotiable.” 

“We’ve tried everything.” 

“No, there has to be something we haven’t tried yet.” Lumen reached for a tool; perhaps they could build a contraption to help— 

“Stop it, Lumen!” In a swift motion, Kaida stood up, Lumen falling and hitting the ground with an audible thud. 

“Hey! If you do that, then we won’t—” 

“Yeah, they all hate me!” Kaida shrieked. “I was never supposed to live. Too small, too weak, to survive amongst the dragons — I only exist because of you! I’m too weird and now they think I’ve lost my mind, trying to fly! Obsessed with flying, I’ve been practicing every day, and now I haven’t contributed to my daily hunts or done anything!” Roaring, Kaida stood up on her hind legs and flared her wings. Her height towered meters above Lumen, who flinched. Although her wings were small for dragon size, compared to Lumen, they picked up a strong enough breeze that swirled leaves around and had Lumen leaning forward to not fall. Still, Lumen stood their ground. “Kaida, stand down. We’ve gone over this.”

“Don’t tell me what to do—” 

“Don’t you want to find where you belong?” 

“We won’t!” exclaimed Kaida. If Lumen would have looked closer, they would have noticed clear tears falling from her eyes. “You know that!” 

“We WILL! If you do this, all the dragons will love you, they’ll celebrate you; we’ll make them notice us, if it’s the last—” 

“No. People like us — we won’t ever belong! I won’t ever fly, it’s just a fact! Have you found what you were looking for, trying to impress others!?! You’ve lost yourself — you’re obsessed. They won’t ever accept us, because we’re different. I know you know. I know you know deep down, we won’t ever be liked. Stop pretending like it’s all going to work out.” 

Lumen glared, clenching their fists. “Don’t act like you know my situat—” “We would have been better off dead.” 

· · ·

Die. 

· · ·

She couldn’t go on like this. For years, all Kaida wanted was to be special. Even if she was different, she wanted it to be something positive — not being laughed at for her inability to fly. The moon hung high up in the night; the stars were blinking innocently. Kaida padded out of her cave.

Here Kaida was, at the cliff edge she practiced flying at. This time, she knew something was different. Her green, spiky tail swished beside her and she once again pulled her wings up. Her eyes blazed with determination. 

For Lumen. 

She leapt — and this time, she let the wind carry her past the edge of the cliff, up, up, up towards the sun. 

Falling felt like flying. 

Falling felt like flying. 

Kaida finally knew what it was like to kiss the sky. 

Falling felt like flying. 

· · ·

It was another one of those morning assemblies. While Lumen’s hair gave the appearance that they attempted to brush it, it was still noticeably more unkempt. Their bangs kept on falling into their eyes. Another night without sleep. 

A hoarse laugh bubbled up from Lumen’s throat, sounding much like they were drunk. It was a laugh that they’re sure everyone in the audience could hear. Success! Success! Kaida flew. The entire school was clapping for them, for their genius. But Kaida was dead, Lumen knew. Lumen knew it very well. They had destroyed their own creation in their mind. Kaida was dead, and the only thing that took flight was her soul. The auditorium was empty, and there was no one to witness Lumen’s success, Lumen’s end. 

Fin.