The Sky Girl

Once upon a time there was a flight attendant. She was born in the east fifty years after or before the turn of the century. One day, she was on an airplane cruising over mountains covered in pine forests. There was a great explosion and the plane crashed. The young woman fell 10,000 meters from the sky. She did not have a parachute, and yet she was the only survivor of the air disaster. After recovering from her injuries, she continued to work for the airline company. She is still alive and holds the record for surviving the highest fall from the sky without a parachute. Those with dark hearts have doubted her story, contrary to all evidence, and have maligned her character without reason. Others have stared into the clouds and wondered why a woman who could survive the commotions of heaven would bother to return to the dust of the earth. And then there are those who wonder whether or not the only way to see the sky is to fall.


Strolling through the blazing wheatfields, the thief praised the glory of nature and the beauty of the blue skies and golden grain. One by one, he plucked the ears, and dreamed of the universe, how it was made of grain and sand, some 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 seeds scattered across the black empyrean. And he dreamed of that moment when the little stones of light, invisible to the eye, collided to create the moon, sun and stars. And the moment the first atoms made plankton and grass, and then the grass made trees. And the plankton made tadpoles, which became larvae and diseases, which changed into scarabs, which begot salamanders, who engendered frogs, fish, calamaria, and sharks, who turned into birds, who became dogs, and the dogs brought forth the deer, the giraffe, the oxen, the camels, the hippopotami, the bear, the jackal, the ape and the human. It would have been wonderful to see man or woman strike flints to see the first spark, for sparks are also like seeds, like grains, like little stones and drops of water. With his hand full of grain, the thief stopped to gaze into the sky. Beyond the cypress trees, a flock of black birds circled, as if forming an eye gazing into eternal emptiness. Nothing can be made of nothing, the thief whispered, his heart almost frozen. The wind blew the grains of wheat into the air, they circled like the birds, and then they were gone.