The Eagle Kite

This is a story on a kite. Do read it and give positive and negative feedback.


Hi! I’m Garud. My name means ‘eagle’ which indicates that as a kite I can fly very high. My best friend Amar, who is a human probably, named me that for this reason I once took part in a kite flying competition. Let me share my experience with you. On that day I had mixed feelings as I was nervous, excited and anxious all at the same time.

At that time, I felt that I should do my best for Amar as he did for me. He mended me when he found me stuck in a tree. He actually took me to the doctor when I couldn’t fly too high. When I wouldn’t soar and wave my tail about, he would start crying, thinking something was wrong with me. Such devotion from a 9 year old was too amazing for words.

I knew that I had to do everything he told me from now on because he always understood me in a special way. Today was the big day, the time of our lives, the only chance of being shooting stars! The village of Khednagar was always full of excitement and hurry. There was never a dull moment here. Everyone was buzzing on about the competition.

Go Garud, go! I was thrown into the air. I could see about a hundred other kites flying about. They were so colorful and there were so many shapes. Blue diamonds, green squares and even purple butterflies filled the air. As we were soaring we could see our homes which looked like squares. The grass which poked us looked like a green silk carpet. The people were little circles with other little shapes sticking out. Go, Garud, go! This voice of Amar’s made me snap out of it and I started to pull myself higher.

Then, just when I was about to win, a boy named Shantanu took a slingshot and hit the string of me. I drifted far away from Amar. I could
hear him wailing for me but there was no way I could come back down.

I have been flying for days and nights but whenever it becomes night, I can literally feel the wind of Khednagar going through my face. The cold wind shivers me but I don’t stop soaring. When ever I look down I literally see the village. I can see the buildings which just look like squares placed on a grid. Inside those houses, there is warmth and laughter filled up till the brim and I wish I was still there. The moon shines upon them in my head and it looks like something totally different. I feel that the clouds block my view but I can still picture the village. Children running from here to there, playing hide-and-seek at any time of the day. A bird crashes into me puncturing holes all over me. My red fabric is torn like anything but I will keep on flying as long as I never forget Amar who tendered me as if I was his own child.