The kite ascended.
The light breeze slowly took it up.
The boy below in glee.
Watched in awe as his gleaming diamond soared.
Nothing could match this sight.
Nothing could match this beauty of his.
He took it up there.
With the string that he held soft.
He was its master.
And the kite flew where he wished.
He loved it too much.
He believed in its power and its beauty.
Another string appeared.
And with it came a kite like many others.
None too pretty and neither a warrior.
Yet it came but not towards the boy's own.
It wafted in the air a little away.
On its own, gently swaying.
But not too far.
And then the wind.
That brings small calamities,
Brought the ugly kite closer.
On its string that was covered with glass.
Pieces of glass that the boy below knew not of.
The wind collapsed.
So did the gleaming beauty of a kite.
His kite fell like any other.
Nothing seemed extraordinary about it.
Not any more.
Not as the wind took it away.