If Skies Would Weep

Many of the Cloud dwellers screamed as the baby boy began to plunge through the misty white, too heavy to stay on top. The wails from the boy grew fainter and, finally, he made it to the air beneath the Clouds. The remaining young ones covered their eyes with their delicate hands; the older ones turned away. There was only one person who could bring himself to watch.

And so Navon gazed down in disbelief and despair as the boy he’d so recently just named flailed in the air, his tiny, fragile limbs waving about in every direction. The wails coming from the boy’s lips grew fainter and fainter as the baby fell more and more.

It was shocking, really: The boy did not disintegrate. Instead, the Fall grew slower, somehow, almost as if the dense air was supporting him down. After what seemed like weeks – the crowd had long ago dispersed – the boy was just a dot.

Before he became this tiny dot in Navon’s vision, though, the elder saw the boy begin to age and grow, just like a human, just like a normal Cloud dweller. It was startling, really; this boy was living out an extraordinary life, but he still grew like everyone else. Time still grabbed hold of him and dragged him along relentlessly, just like with everyone else.

When the boy was only a dot, Navon sat, his legs widely spread – to give his weight more surface to support him – and thought. The first sentence that entered his mind was, The poor boy – he’ll live like this until he hits the Earth and then die on impact or from thirst.

Nngh – suddenly entered his mind. It certainly wasn’t a thought Navon meant to think – and it wasn’t in his usual voice his thoughts used, a voice very similar to his actual out-loud one. It had a fuzzy edge to it that made it confusing, not to mention the fact that the thought wasn’t a real word.

More incomprehensive words issued through Navon’s mind, and they seemed almost child-like. It sounded like the voices of the few children he managed to raise without them Falling before they learnt how to speak their language.

An idea occurred to him and he looked through the wispy Cloud to look at that dot again, always growing smaller and smaller as time kept dragging everyone through the bushes. Could it be…? But no. Thoughts were only connected to those above the Clouds and even then, most kept them closed because one person’s despair was enough. Once the wings broke, your thoughts broke as well: A broken Cloud dweller would be all alone, their own thoughts, their own head, and no one else to connect to.

Navon started to talk in his mind to what he thought might just be Chaim, the boy of uniqueness, telling him stories of the love humans could experience, of the great war for water, the second-hand and now first-hand emotions, the Prophecy no one set much hope in anymore. He talked until Chaim began to pick up words and know their meanings, until he began to talk in stilted sentences.

Once Chaim started to talk almost fluently, he described the rushing sound he always hears, the weightlessness of Falling for as long as he could remember, the coldness that crept into his veins and was nature to him now.

Tell me of the Prophecy story, Chaim said one time, his voice now resembling that of a young teenage boy. The one you always used to tell me when I was younger.

Navon thought of this story, the one that spoke of love and hope and the solution to the problem that haunted every single person. Okay…

There would be a man one time, a man of importance and cleverness, who will walk from this world and leave a path of originality and bravery and endurance. And when he reaches the seemingly end of his strange, strange journey, he will find yet another one stretching out in front of him, as such is the way of life. Just journey after journey…

The next journey will be fraught with love that will be broken, hope that will be renewed, destiny that must be fulfilled…

And so, when the impact comes, he will stumble and be stumbled upon by the most beautiful woman he will ever meet. But soon, discoveries will fly and hearts will crumble into utmost despair. He will know what he must do.

And the story continued, to tell a tale where the man will become a sight unworthy of love or any kind of happiness, and the woman will grow so beautiful, she will be blinding. Chaim was silent for the entire thing, right until the end, when he was silent for a moment more, before speaking.

Is it a true story? Was there really a Prophecy? His voice was of soft, childish curiosity, bleeding into Navon. But the elder didn’t answer, for he didn’t know the truth.

More days passed, blurring into each other, time dizzyingly screaming by. Navon’s body grew stiff and unmoving, his eyes always focused on something far away. The Cloud dwellers learned to skirt around him silently, sure he was immobilised with despair for the Fallen newborn who must be dead by now, as the elder waited for his own Fall that would be certain to come.

But it never did. The connection Navon had with Chaim kept him above. And the elder began to think of Chaim as his son, despite the fact that Cloud dwellers were never to have children of their own, but to look after the Cloud’s children, as though they were older siblings.

One day, Chaim sent Navon an actual image: It was of the Clouds, so far away, against the backdrop of blue, endless blue. It was wonderfully stunning.

This is what I see every moment of the day, Chaim said, sounding older than he ever had before. His voice was laced with sadness and wonder, a strange mixture of emotions.

That was the one thing that baffled Navon: Chaim could feel, his emotions getting stronger the longer he Fell, as though he were turning into a human.

Chaim seemed to grow more human-like the closer he got to Earth. He could feel it, in his skin and bones and heart, emotions growing deeper and always changing. It was strange, when Chaim remembered the time when he was younger and he could still feel the faded feelings of those below him. Now, that was gone.

The only constants he had were the connections with Navon and the weightlessness of every day…