Everything is temporary [Short Story] 

Oh, how we looked at her in amazement. Each Fall, she – the girl so light she could fly – would come by, never when we expected her to; we knew little about her except for the fact that she was reliably spontaneous. Usually, I got to know of her visit by the high pitched screams of the village children followed by the elders’ hesitant stares skywards.
There she was swooping over our heads. Blazing, daring, grinning. She would stretch out a fist as she used the winds to gain more momentum, slaloming through the trees, using the edges of rooftops as momentary runways. Nothing was impossible to her, neither pirouettes nor flips. She’d zoom over the horizon all around us, until she would have enough and move on to bring that joy to another village. To me she was the wildest will and wind, and whenever she came she brought with her a gush of happiness.

So full of energy, bouncing around the sky with a grand big smile, yet whenever I shouted, whether we locked eyes or not, she would never approach. With my feet planted on the ground it was impossible for me to catch her to ask the question that had now been on the verge of escaping my lips for as long as I could remember. However, this time, I had had a year since her last visit to hatch a plan. Immediately, after the air filled with the children’s screams, I grabbed my lasso-like contraption from under the bed and mounted my bike with an overflowing confidence in what I was about to do.
When I had caught her and she pulled herself down the rope. At the moment she came close enough to be able to feel my heavy panting on her face, I couldn’t wait any longer and immediately blurted out my question: “Will you come to my passage ritual?”.
“Passage Ritual?”
“Yes I will become a woman! There will be celebrations in the whole village it is in exactly two weeks. There will be plenty of both food and dancing!”
“Oh! That sounds great, I’d love to join. What will you need to be doing?”
“I’ll have to face the pain of…”
“That sounds tough. But I have a tip for you. During the trial, just remember this one thing. Everything is temporary. You will be fine, I promise.”
And so it was settled. The lovely girl of the winds would come to my trial of becoming.

<________________>
The day came and I stood on the roof of our villages’ highest building, straining my eyes to be the first to spot her in the distance. Nothing. I had to make my way to the ritual grounds.

<________________>
Screams! I grabbed my lasso and stumbled on my way to the bike.
“Why did you not come?”
“Oh I thought you were just being polite in asking me to be there.”
“No! I yanked you specifically from the skies to ask you! I wanted us to share this. For you to become a friend to me and a part of this village rather than a distant passerby from the skies. Everyone would have loved you for your gleeful demeanor.”
“I don’t want to be part of your small hill of dirt.” She let go and took again to the skies.

<________________>
A decade later, the village received newspapers. The front page hosted a picture of the girls’ dead body. Standing next to it: A meek scientist. They had found the reason for her lightness. A hole so gaping, that her body weight became meaningless. She had never carved her way through the skies. Her antics, smiles, and stunts were meant to hide the fact that she was merely drifting with the wind. To us, sure! But also to herself. For all she wanted was to forget about hollowness. Only by swallowing a truth as heavy as stones could she have filled that void and sunk down to the ground.
That reassuring “Everything is temporary” was the only mantra she had to hold on to. Since, for someone who is drifting the only permanence is that of change. However, to us who don’t have to fly with the winds, for we have found our grip in strong roots; Indeed “Everything is temporary” is an antidote to pain, but it cannot cease being one to happiness either.