Ages ago, I used to fly. I used to fly over my house. Up in the sky, I would look inside my house. I saw my mother looking for me. She would look under the table, under the bed, inside the cupboard… everywhere. She could never find me. Whenever I came back home, after flying she would ask me where I was and how much I troubled her. I would tell her I went flying, she told me I was lying. Everyday this cycle was repeated. Afraid of being accused for lying every day, I stopped flying. Flying was everything for me. It was heartless of my mother to stop me from flying. All I wanted was to fly. Over the buildings, the bus depots and the sea. Today, I tried flying again. I could for a while, but then I fell. After the fall, I can fly again. But something is different. Flying seems lighter now. oh wait! Is that me lying there on the ground?
Koshy Brahmatmaj
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