Flying a Kite

Flying a Kite

Kite’s eyes snapped open, the warm solitude of sleep slowly fading from his body. Cold sweat clung to his crimson fur and his legs were trembling. The young pegasus rolled over and saw the sun poking through the Wonderbolt curtains he’d gotten for his eighth birthday. His stomach turned with the realization that, for the third day in a row, he was going to be late for beginner’s flight school.

“Kite!” came Citrus’ voice from down the hall, “You’re—”

“I know!” he shouted. He kicked back the clouds and tumbled out of bed.

Maybe I’ll get it today, he thought on his way to the kitchen. Maybe it’ll be a flying mark. I bet I’ll start flying — I will start flying today.

“Apple toast,” Citrus said sharply. The plate slid down the table and stopped in front of Kite. He nudged the pile of apple slices. Underneath, telltale signs of charred crumbs, flecks of black poking through the fruit gaps. She’d burned it again; not only that, but...

“Mom—” he tried.

“Ah! Eat it,” said Citrus as she darted out of the kitchen.

“It’s cold.”

“If you don’t want it cold, you should wake up when it’s still warm.”

Cold and burnt: easily one of the worst things that could happen to bread. Kite glanced around the kitchen, there were a few dirty plates by the sink, bits of food scattered across the table. His siblings were already gone. Somehow they had mastered the art of getting up at the same time every day.

Citrus breezed into the room again, paused, cocked her head and whisked back out, work clothes slung across her wings.

“Can’t you wake me up?” Kite asked.

“What was that?” Citrus reappeared in the doorway. Her mane was half styled, and a tangled ribbon ran through the top. She had applied a thin layer of makeup to her face in an attempt to hide the bags under her eyes. Citrus never seemed to sleep well after her night job. It was only on weekends that her energy returned.

“... never mind.”

“Eat quickly, okay?” Citrus pecked her son on the cheek. “I’ve got to go now. You know the drill: help Thistle with dinner and don’t make trouble for him.” With that, she rushed out the door.

Kite’s brother pushed his way to the front of his mind. It was the same thing every afternoon until Mom got home: Thistle would sit amidst his pile of books, “studying”, while he yelled at the others to make dinner and clean their rooms.

“Typical Thistle,” Kite grumbled.

===

The cold winter air nipped at Kite the moment he stepped out the door. Along the balcony, a few other pegasi were bracing themselves as they readied to dive into the icy wind. This was one of the times that Kite was almost grateful he couldn’t fly. Instead, he trotted down the stairwell to the courtyard in the middle of the four buildings that made up the Projects.

Kite’s legs ached as he scampered through the gates of flight school. His class was congregated nearby; none of them could fly yet. Mr. Prince, was busy explaining something to the crowd of fillies and colts around him. Taking advantage of the distraction, Kite filed into the ranks next to his friend Mulberry.

“Still blank, I see,” the teal pegasus said with a quick glance.

“Blank as ever,” Kite grumbled. “I’m gonna get it today though and it’s gonna be way better than yours.”

“I doubt it; nothing could beat mine.” Mulberry tapped the berries occupying his flank.

“Remind me, what good is growing berries up here?”

“Mulberry, Kite!” Mr. Prince cut in. “Will you two kindly shut your mouths and pay attention?”

The duo complied as their teacher’s blazing glare fell upon them. Mr. Prince eyed them for a few moments longer before returning to his lecture on flight technique. Hours and hours of his ceaseless lectures droned by. It felt that way, at least. Really though, it had probably only been a few minutes. At last, Mr. Prince broke the class into groups to work on their flapping. He moved between the foals, barking orders here and there.

“Spitfire! You’re using too much effort and too little technique. Watch me.” Mr. Prince gave a few, steady flaps. “And you er... purple foal. Not enough effort. C’mon, build that muscle!”

Eventually, Mr. Prince thundered his way around to Kite and Mulberry. There, he hovered over them, observing their movements. Kite could feel his teacher’s gaze bearing down on him like the sun.

“Am I getting it?” Mulberry panted, his wings carrying him until only the tips of his hooves touched the clouds.

“‘Fraid not, Mulberry,” said their teacher. “See, you’re buzzing a little, tells me you’re not spreading your wings enough on the flap. Less effort, more technique. We’ll have you shuffling clouds around soon enough.”

Mulberry’s practice stumbled for a second. Worry swept across his face. As soon as Mr. Prince had left, the pegasus leapt at his friend in a fit of panic.

“Dude, I completely forgot about our homework,” Mulberry hissed.

“But it’s due tomorrow,” Kite gasped.

“I know. Can you come around after school and help me out?”

===

“Cumulo... Cumulo... nimbus? Those are the big fluffy ones, right?”

“No, they’re the kind of dense ones,” said Kite, trying to balance a pencil on his nose.

“How can it be dense? It’s a cloud.”

“Just put it as the answer, c’mon.” Kite sighed. There was nothing to do. Normally, Mulberry’s house meant all kinds of cool and expensive toys to play with. On one of the shelves, Kite could see Mulberry’s Red Blitz action figure poised for takeoff. Right now he wanted nothing more than to climb up there and start flying the Captain of the Wonderbolts through races. There would be none of that today, though. His friend had to study.

“How’s everything going in here?” Kite glanced towards the source of the voice and saw Mulberry’s Dad standing in the doorway.

“It’s fine,” said Mulberry without looking up.

“Kite’s not just giving you all the answers?”

“No.”

“Because you know you won’t learn anything that way.” He turned to Kite and, with a smile that seemed too friendly to be natural, said, “Hey there, champ, how’s your mother doing?”

“Good.”

“That’s good. You tell her that if she ever needs anything, all she has to do is ask, okay?”

“Okay.”

With that, Mulberry’s Dad was out the door again. Kite’s gaze lingered, mind gathering thoughts on the stallion. He was always nice when Kite came round. Too nice? Maybe. With that thought, a conversation from years ago cut to the front of the thought queue.

“How come your Dad’s never here?” Mulberry had asked, the real object of his attention being the little pegasus and chariot he was flying around.

Fortunately, Kite didn’t need to think about the question for very long. Any conversation distracted him from the castle of blocks he was building. “Cause I don’t have one,” he said.

There was a clatter of plastic. Kite glanced at his friend and saw him staring back, eyes wide, the toy no longer in his hooves. “What? Why not? Everypony has to have one.”

“Why?”

Mulberry thought for a moment as he reached for the fallen toy. “Because... because they just do.”

Later that night, Kite had taken the question to Citrus but she brushed it off. “You don’t need one because I love you all twice as much as anypony else can.” And that was that. Still, the discussion had bothered Kite from time to time ever since. As far as he could remember, there’d never been any Dads around their house. Thistle was as much a help on the subject as his mother.

There was a screeching squawk as a flapping mess of color and feathers burst into the room.

“What's that?” asked Kite, snapping out of his daydreaming.

“Huh? That’s Seri, my parrot. I got him a few days ago. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No.” Kite watched as the parrot landed on Mulberry’s bookshelf. From there, it proceeded to serenade the pair with a series of screeches and snaps of its beak. “What's it doing now?”

“I think it’s his way of singing.”

“You don’t find it annoying?”

“No... why, do you?”

Seri squawked, paused to glare at Kite for a moment and continued with its screeching.

“Yeah, it’s a little annoying.”

“You’ll get used to it. I kinda like it ‘cos it stops my brain from wandering. Anyway, I need your help with question seven.”

“Read it to me.” Kite laid the pencil on the floor. He slapped the tip with his hoof as hard as he could, sending the pencil flying through the air. He jumped up and tried to catch it between his hooves, only for it to slip through and hit him on the forehead.

“It just says: list every cloud type. I’ve got Cirrus and Alto-something. What are the other ones?”

“Um...” Kite flung the pencil through its acrobatic act again, catching it this time. “Altocumulus, I think there’s another alto-something cloud too. Then there’s Cirrocumulus and—”

“Squawk!”

“And that’s all I can think of.”

“Oh, okay.”

Kite shot the pencil up again. This time he felt more ambitious. His legs remained on the floor, mouth open and ready to catch the flying object between his teeth. He kept his eyes locked on the thin piece of wood as it arced and spun down towards his jaws.

“Squawk!” the parrot cried straight into his ear. Kite’s hooves clapped to his head, a sharp ringing already cutting into his senses. Then the pencil, forgotten amidst the assault, landed squarely, eraser first, in Kite’s eye. He fell to the floor, tears starting to flow. He brought a hoof around, trying to rub the pain away but his eye only itched and throbbed. Seri, Mulberry, the whole room had become a blur of color and sound. Kite thought he could see his friend mouthing something to the bird as it stammered into a rainbow of flight. He looked up at the villanous creature, which sat, almost proudly, on its perch. It had already begun the song again, an anthem to its victory.

“Oh, that’s it! Get out of here, you stupid bird!” He picked up the pencil, locked onto the parrot through a veil of red and swung it at his target. The projectile surged into Seri, who gave a brief shriek and fell silent. Kite’s heart started pounding, butterflies filled his stomach and his throat went dry. He glanced to Mulberry who was staring at the shelf. Seri had slumped back against the wall, the pencil lodged squarely through its chest. Seri managed to lift a trembling wing for a moment before dropping it and falling still.

“Seri!?” Mulberry shouted, leaping to his hooves.

“No, I- I was just trying to scare him off.” Kite placed a hoof on his friend's shoulder but it was shaken away. Mulberry began a stumbled climb up towards his pet. Kite watched as his friend grasped at the shelves, toys and possessions brushed aside indifferently. The unluckiest made the long tumble down where they clattered and snapped. All the while, Kite struggled not to think those words. If he didn’t think them, they wouldn’t be true.

It’s okay, Kite. You—

“Killed him. You killed him.” said Mulberry, tears welling up in his eyes. “He was singing for us and you killed him.”

Kite fell silent as a strange realisation assaulted him. This is it, what I’m meant to do. In that moment, all the panic and fear over killing the parrot flowed out through Kite like water from a dam. He breathed a heavy sigh as his muscles unclenched. Then a voice crept into Kite’s brief glimpse of paradise and shattered the dream.

“You killed him,” Mulberry repeated, struggling back down the shelves, the parrot’s body cradled in his foreleg. Its head bobbed with every step he took.

“But—”

“Just go. I don’t wanna see you again,” Mulberry choked out the words, gently placed the parrot on the floor and hunched over it, body trembling. “How could you just kill him like that!? How could you - why?”

Kite ran. He ran out of Mulberry’s room, out of his house. The buildings around him were as much a blur as he was. Mulberry’s face refused to be banished from his mind. The way his skin had twisted up, the anger, their friendship suddenly forgotten. All the while, he wanted to scream, to stamp his hooves, to smash his toys.

Stupid, you stupid foal! he shouted at himself. Go break everything.

That’s what he’d do. All his toys would be a pile of dust by the time his mother got home.

===

His siblings didn’t pay him much mind as he sped to his room. Kite pushed his bed up to the door and sat against it. It was the last time anypony was going to see him. He’d stay in this room forever.

But first... Kite turned his attention to one of the many pegasus figures occupying his bedside table. He knocked it to the floor, lifted a hoof and brought it down on the toy. Its head broke off but that wasn’t enough. Kite stomped on the pony again and again until it lay it fragments. He looked at his handiwork. The wings were bent out of shape, head squished down. It was the blue pony, he’d had it for a couple of years. At that point the crying started, staggered sobs that snuffed out his breathing.

What’s going to happen tomorrow? Mulberry’s never gonna forgive me. They would all hate him for it. Everypony would look at his mark and hate him. Unless... maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe it wasn’t even there. He hadn’t checked. It could all just be a misunderstanding.

Kite slowly shifted to his hooves and approached his closet. Attached to the other side of the door was a tall mirror.

I’m going to open the door and look at my flank. It's going to be fine.

Kite brought his hoof to the handle and pulled open the closet. His eyes fell upon the mirror flank, gut wrenched and twisted. It wasn’t going to be fine. There in the reflection: a skull, cloven in half, its eye sockets dark and empty.

===

“Honey? Are you okay in there? Your dinner’s getting cold.”

The pegasus stirred at his mother’s voice. There was a thumping of the door being pushed against the bed but managing no further.

“Kite, is something wrong? Why’s the door blocked?”

“Um, everything’s fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“If there’s something you want to talk about, you know you can, okay?”

“It's nothing, I’m fine.” Kite climbed to his hooves and took inventory of himself. The mark was still there. Of course it was. That’s how things worked. There was no point in pretending. He couldn’t stay in his room forever. At some stage he’d have to go downstairs and then they would all see what had happened.

Or maybe they don’t have to, Kite thought as he glanced to the closet. From within, he fished out a long coat that would reach past his flank. Ever present was the strange sensation that in the mirror, his cutie mark was watching him. He could feel the heat of its gaze on his neck, his hairs crawling, sweat beading. He looked at the mark and the sensation vanished. The skull stared blankly into space, its harassment imaginary.

===

“What’s the occasion?” asked Thistle.

“Huh?” said Kite as he sat down next to his brother.

“Why are you all dressed up?”

His whole family was staring at him. Thistle, Citrus, his little sister Posey. They all knew something was wrong.

“I was cold. I think I’m getting sick.” Kite threw in a cough for good measure.

“Well then, after dinner, I’ll get the cough medicine and it’s straight to bed,” said Citrus.

Cough medicine, the bane of fake illnesses. Kite had often wondered if it tasted that bad to make sure only the sickest ponies would drink it. After all, the label said strawberry and it tasted nothing like strawberry. Still, he could suffer through it if doing so meant keeping his cutie mark hidden.

Dinner was some kind of warmish flower-and-greens mash. Recipes were no more than a list of ingredients as far as his siblings were concerned. Citrus’ children had found that it was much quicker and easier to just mix everything together all at once and hope for the best. As such, mashed whatever-the-recipe-called-for was the specialty of their kitchen. Posey chattered away, content that whatever disturbance there had been was now resolved.

“Teacher said I did really good coloring today. Do you think I’ll get a coloring cutie mark?”

“You might,” said Citrus.

“What do you think it would look like? Maybe some crayons and paper? Or maybe some colored pencils?”

Kite cringed at the conversation topic and the images of his grief-stricken friend it brought up. He tried to ignore their talking and focus on eating the greenish mess. At that moment, there came a merciful knock at the front door.

“Oh, I’ll get it.” Kite shuffled out of the kitchen and towards the front door. He pulled it open, revealing a guard, heavily clad in armour.

“Hello there little one, is your mother around?” he said.

“Um, Mom?”

“Can I help you?” asked Citrus, appearing at the door.

“Officer Rhapsody, ma’am. I was hoping to talk to your son Kite.”

“He’s right here.” Citrus gestured. “Why, what’s this about?”

===

The three ponies sat together in the lounge, Officer Rhapsody filling in the details. Kite’s siblings had been sent to their rooms. The foal lay against his mother, only half listening as he picked at the frayed patches on the well-worn sofa. A few months ago, only one sofa had occupied the lounge room. Then Thistle came running home shouting that he’d found another one. Everypony was rushed outside to help him collect it before somepony else did.

“I’m afraid that’s the story,” Rhapsody finished at last.

“Kite? Is this true,” asked Citrus, eyebrows raised.

He didn’t look up. He just nodded his head slowly and mumbled, “It was an accident.”

“You need to be careful not to play so rough. Your friend’s very upset,” said Rhapsody.

“What are you going to do?” Kite asked.

“Nothing, but I imagine your mother is going to give you a firm talking to.”

Kite looked up at his mother. She gave a smile, reached out and touched her son under his chin.

“Are you really sick, or was that so you didn’t have to talk to me?” she asked.

Kite shook his head. “I’m not sick.”

“Why the clothes then?”

“To hide— to hide that I wasn’t really sick,” Kite corrected himself too late.

“Don’t lie to me,” sternness entering her voice.

Kite looked to the guard and back to his mother. It was silly to think that he could keep it covered forever. He peeled off part of the coat, hoof trembling, his mark still hidden. He took a deep breath.

Here it comes.

The rest of his cover was pulled aside. Both grownups stared at the cutie mark. It took his mother a moment of realisation before her face contorted in horror. The guard only looked interested.

“W-what is that?” Citrus stammered.

“Mmm... this complicates things.” Rhapsody rose to his hooves. “I need to return to my post. Tomorrow morning, some gentlecolts will be stopping by to help you deal with this... situation.” He started towards the front door but paused again. “You should probably keep the clothes on until then, son.”

The door slammed shut. The big reveal hadn’t quite gone as Kite had expected.

What did I expect? he wondered, unable to answer the question. Empathy, anger, no emotion seemed to fit quite right. Citrus continued to stare at her son’s flank.

“Mom,” said Kite as he started to replace his coat. “What did he mean? Why are some ponies stopping by.”

“I... I don’t know.” Citrus snapped out of her trance and became a parent again. “C’mon, time for bed.”

The young pegasus stayed where he was. “Can I sleep in your bed?”

“Honey, I have to work tonight, I won’t be here.”

“Oh, okay.”

Citrus hovered over and embraced her son. “Don’t worry. Go to sleep and everything will be fine before you know it.”

===

The next morning, Kite and Citrus sat together in the lounge room. Both had feigned illness, escaping their commitments so that the guests could be seen to. Kite leaned forward and poked at the coffee table. It used to bother everypony with its incessant wobbling before they had put one of Thistle’s old textbooks under the offending leg. Now Kite found himself craving the movement, anything to break the tension.

“What do you think they’ll want?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Citrus, her hooves rubbing together.

The seconds ticked by as Kite thought up a new question. “Am I gonna be in trouble?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly.”

Their nervous musings were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey.” Citrus rubbed her head down the foal’s neck and left the room. Kite, left alone, was free to tremble at the thoughts of what his fate would be.

“Good morning ma’am,” came a voice from the hall, “I’m Guise and this is my associate Thunder. We’re here about your son, Kite.”

“Y-yes of course. Come in.”

Hoofsteps crept towards the lounge. Citrus led the way followed by a pair of burly-looking ponies. One was a unicorn who had an impressive array of scars on his legs and neck. Maybe there were even more under the vest he was wearing. The other, a pegasus, had a particularly rough-looking set of feathers.

“Kite, I presume?” said the unicorn, “I’m Guise, this is Thunder. I understand you’ve been having some trouble with your cutie mark.”

Kite nodded and shifted his body around so they could see. Guise gave a short hum and clicked his tongue a few times.

“What is it?” asked Citrus, dropping down next to her son.

“Just a little mistake that comes round every so often. By killing something before earning his mark, Kite has managed to make his special talent-”

“Killing things?” the pegasus interrupted.

“I'm afraid so. May we?” Guise gestured to the sofa opposite Kite and, without waiting for approval, sat down. Thunder stayed on his hooves, eyes wandering the room. “Thunder and I were in the same situation as foals.”

Kite glanced at the visitor’s flanks. Thunder had a storm cloud and Guise had a fireburst.

“Heh, they aren’t there anymore,” said Guise.

“What do you mean?” asked Citrus.

“That’s actually what we’re getting to. You see, there’s a relatively simple, magically-aided surgical procedure in which we change your son’s mark to something else along with the talent that comes with it.”

“Relatively simple?” said Citrus, drawing her son in closer.

“Well, uh, like many operations, there is the possibility, a very low one I might add, of side effects. Death, in this case.”

“Death? No, forget it. You’re not going to hurt my boy.”Citrus lifted her right wing and lay it across Kite.

“The odds of that occurring are exceptionally low, likely impossible. Thus far, only unicorns have died during the procedure. Cutie mark magic doesn’t always agree with their own inherent magical energy as I understand it. Your son will be returned as healthy as ever.”

“But you don’t know for sure that you won’t—” Citrus paused and hung her head. Her jaw shifted from side to side a few times. She looked up again and glanced to Thunder who hadn’t moved. “What do you mean ‘returned’.”

“Well - ahem.” Guise shifted his legs so that they were hanging off the sofa. “We prefer to perform the procedure away from any distractions, family included. It’s a measurement necessary to ensure Kite’s safety. He would only be gone a few days.”

Kite could feel his mother’s body starting to tremble. Little twitches that could have been her heartbeat. A delicate grinding noise came from her mouth. “You’re telling me you want to perform a life threatening procedure on my son and I’m not allowed to be there with him?”

“The measurements we have—"

“Ah! Yes or no?”

“Technically speaking... yes.”

Citrus rose to her hooves and stretched out her wings. “Well, thank you for the offer, but I don’t think we’ll be needing your help after all.

“Ma’am, I understand that—”

“I’d like you both to leave now.”

“Ma’am—”

“Please, just leave.”

Their guests glanced at one another. Guise rose to his hooves and gave a nod to Citrus.

“I apologize that things had to go this way, ma’am. Should you change your mind, let the guards know.”

With that, Guise gave another nod and headed for the door. Thunder lingered for a moment, his eyes on Kite.

“Change your mind,” He said and followed his associate.

Kite waited until the front door had slammed shut before saying anything.

“Mom—”

“Shh!” She put a hoof to his lips. Her ears twisted around for a few moments. Kite followed suit. He could hear their guests hoofsteps growing distant. Once they had faded into oblivion, Citrus relaxed and released his mouth.

“What about my cutie mark?”

“Don’t worry about that, honey.”

“But—”

“Here’s what we’re going to do today.” She kneeled down in front of him. “You get to have the whole day off school to play in your room while I take care of this.”

“But—”

“Kite, everything’s going to be fine.” She lay her hooves on either side of him and stared into his eyes. Kite watched his reflection in the glassy, yellow orbs. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

===

He sat in his room, pushing a pony and chariot a few hoof lengths back and forth. Each pass gave a gentle squeak. It was the only sound Kite had as he stared off into space.

This is the daytime, he thought. Part of his mind was aware that his leg was aching. How long had he been moving the toy? He lifted it up to eye level and looked at the wheels. Kite rolled the wheels and was greeted by a gentle whine for oil. That’s new.

There was a loud, frantic knock at the door and his body froze, ears twisted in the sound’s direction. The knocking changed to a steady thud.

No, Kite lifted a hoof to his chest, the dull pulse of his heartbeat palpable.

Voices came from down the hall, familiar ones. Thistle and Posey were back from school. He could hear his sister chattering away about something. Questions about Kite. They weren’t to bother him. Muscles unclenching, he lowered the chariot to the floor.

===

Kite lay motionless under the covers. Dinner sat on his bedside table, cold and forgotten. His eyes refused to fall shut. The lumpy roof of his bedroom had burned itself into Kite’s vision despite the darkness. Hoofsteps approached his door.

“Kite?” came his mother’s whisper. “I want you to come sleep in my bed tonight.”

He didn’t reply. The subtle cloud-shades entranced his mind. In the shadows,, they seemed to dance and twist.

“Kite?”

“Okay.” He squinted, shook the room away and shuffled out from under his blanket.

Citrus led him down the hall to her bedroom. In the darkness was a bed much bigger than the others. Easily enough for two ponies yet she never laid in the middle. Always room for her children. Kite took his place on the left side; Citrus on the right. There, against his mother’s warmth, he slept.