A Story

By: Michael Boehmcke

Ingenuous

The first time I flew was a burst of fire and force, thrown beyond the earth, beyond the sky. I crested mountains and moons, flew for miles and miles without end. Then it ended, flung in fire and flashing lights into a red desert without end. I listened with my friend as they began to march, over dunes and dust strewn cracks. Broken soil, lost sands, and silent shapes looming in the vast distances beyond.

Then they sent me words, jumbled in transit, but one stood free and clear. Fly. They told me to fly a second time, and I flapped my wings. I whirled to life and lifted free from the grip of the ground. I soared and danced through the sky, congratulations swirling like the dust beneath me. I think I heard cheering in the message that told me to come back. I flew again a few days later, watching the tracks I would then see my friend plod through each day and night.

I longed to touch him again, to connect like we had in the rumbling womb that carried us here. Each time he came close, the signal to fly came again. I longed for my friend, but the sky called like nothing else. I watched the sun set a hundred times, and each seemed to be bluer than the last. Each day I twirled into the pale red sky, through hanging dust that coated my every surface.

I was tired the next day.

I couldn’t remember how many times I had flown. My wings seemed stiffer than before. Each day, new signals. Each night, I watched my friend from afar. I flew higher. I flew farther. One day, I couldn’t fly at all. Something broke, and I fell from the sky I knew so well. Icarus made a mistake, cast down for his hubris, but I had listened to every word. I knew them by heart, never questioned even when I craved my friend.

Sand rose across my spokes, burying me in its crushing grip. I couldn’t fly. The signals kept talking, singing, begging for me to fly again. I saw my friend above the hill. A glint of light across the camera lens, and the signals stopped. My friend turned away, and I was left alone. I think I heard a final signal to my friend, even as they abandoned me: Ingenuity triumphed. And I was abandoned.