Airborne

A Short Story

Lucy woke up feeling she was walking on air, and not without a reason. It was the Monthly Meeting Day. Usually, the monthly meeting was the only time of the month when each resident of the Village could air their unpopular opinions without the fear of being publicly ostracized by the rest or even forced off the limits of the community. It was the only day when people were allowed to propose and approve by voting changes to the rules. Lucy had an idea. And she intended to present it in the most forthright and thought-provoking way she was capable of.

Lucy got out of bed and stretched her arms in the air with so much energy they almost fell off. She opened the window and looked down the edge. Her house was sitting at the brim of the village. What extended beyond her house, was just air, an empty space in all five dimensions. The morning was crisp and bright, and she felt the nip in the air embracing her awakening body. She squinted at the sun and grinned at the changing landscapes passing in the distance. This morning the Village woke up hovering over the Grand Water basin. Lucy loved it when they were floating above the water, especially in warm, sunny weather. She could watch for hours the light beam snippets sliding and meandering on the calm flickering surface.

Lucy dressed up quickly. Put up her mousey brown hair in a ponytail. Then she looked at the mirror and smiled at her reflection. It was showtime and she was ready. She grabbed her flower-pattern bag and walked out.

The Village was merely nineteen square miles of lush green land but it boasted with three beautiful lakes and an undersized but steep mountain whose twin peaks stuck out in the air like the twin towers of a mythical city called the Big Apple which Lucy had read about in an ancient history book. The Village was a peaceful place with a peaceful, sustainable way of life unless it was time for the annual visit of the Hot Air Balloon Delegates.

Nobody knew where the delegates came from and who had elected them. What residents knew was the air of authority and mystery surrounding them was so tangible and intimidating that no person in their straight mind would risk questioning their legitimacy. The visits lasted about a day but the bustling preparations stretched out for a week in most of the cases, requiring a lot from the resources of the Village.

The purpose of the visits was — as the residents were once, long before Lucy’s time, informed — regulatory. The delegates would sit behind the closed doors of the City Hall’s Meeting Room and would review all the changes of the rules the residents had accepted the previous year.

In case they approved the changes, they would air a tawdry message on the Village broadcasting system praising the residents for their wisdom and good taste and would leave hastily after stuffing themselves with freshly baked pastries and fruit salads. However, if they object the rule changes, they would extend their stay for another day during which they would consume excessive amounts of food, and demand more, all the time locked in that room.

In the end, they would strongly recommend reversals or amendments to certain or all changes. Then with their inherent mannerism, they would hop in the hot air balloons and would vanish in the air in the same unfathomable way they had arrived.

In reality, no one ever checked back if the recommendations were implemented and to what degree, but the residents, obedient to foolishness, nevertheless always wasted one of their Monthly Meetings to discuss and argue about them instead of expressing their own more relevant opinions.

They felt they were required to do so because this was the fundamental rule which the Village very existence depended on. Or so they thought.

Lucy reached the Meeting Room panting for air since she ran almost the whole distance from her house. She wanted to be on the first row when the meeting began so she could be one of the first, if not the first one to speak to the community.

She had secretly fed this small idea to a preposterous size for months. Then, as she felt ashamed of her inappropriate thinking, she had starved the idea to almost non-existent. But later, again determined by the great good of her vision, she had recovered its hardiness and now was ready to let it live a life of its own. It was something nobody in her lifetime or ever before had voiced out in the open air. It was a revolutionizing concept and aimed for independence. Lucy was taught revolutions were only possible in the fantasy novels about a world called The 19th Century. She had to do it regardless. For the sake of her village’s life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

The room stood quiet as if devoid of human presence. Lucy had just finished speaking. Her words had thickened the air in the room. She knew her fellow-residents needed time to digest her message before they reacted.

Nonetheless, Lucy knew she had just planted the first seed of revolutionary thought in their docile brains.

What if there is not and has never been a fundamental rule but just a rule? — she had asked her people. — Think about what we do with just rules!

Low-pitch whispers began pushing the silence away. Her question was passing from mouth to mouth like an airborne virus. Exactly what Lucy had hoped for. She smiled and took a deep breath.