Kate left Clover when she was eighteen years old, she gave happy smiles to those who expected them, and she wrote on her notepad of the dreams she had. The notepad was her constant companion and Carson had often joked that it was her voice. You see, Kate didn't have a voice of her own, she'd never even spoken gibberish as a toddler. She didn't see the need as she grew older, she had a big brother to do the talking for her.
Carson always seemed to know what she was thinking, he'd stick up for her when other kids were cruel, and he'd stay up late at night to write stories for the pictures she drew. Even when she broke her wrist, Carson would keep up the conversation and taught her how to write with her left hand. Carson had been there for her first crush, her first girlfriend, her first breakup; he'd held her when she didn't feel like she could walk another step by herself.
But she'd never been by herself until two years ago when he left them all, when he was taken by a single bolt of lightning. It was funny when she thought back on it, funny in a sad way, because they'd always watched the storms together—they'd wrapped themselves up in blankets and watched as the storm turned the sky to violet and then leaden gray, the way the lightning created bright flashes of color.
Kate had often drawn the yellow flashes against black, and even now she couldn't help but be fascinated by it all. Storms were violent and beautiful, they brought death and life, and Kate was drawn to the different types. That's how she found herself drawn to Oklahoma, she captured the destruction of tornadoes and the heartwarming scenes of reuniting families. Her drawings and photographs helped her pay for college, to become a photographer for a local nature magazine, and even bought the loft she was standing in.
It was early May, the clouds overhead were growing darker and everything looked almost yellow as she stood out on her balcony. With every storm came the sharp reminder that she couldn't call her brother and listen to him describe everything—the way the storm gave him a burst of energy, the crackle of static that caused the hairs on his arms to rise, or the way the cool drops of rain purified everything around them.
Kate smiles, setting her sketch pad on the table just inside the loft before moving to the glass and wood banister. Her hands rest on the wood for a moment before she stepped onto the balcony chair and then on the banister, balancing lightly on it. She was suddenly happy for the gymnastics she'd taken in childhood because she was sure she'd fall had she been untrained.
She thinks back to a story her brother had written hours before his death, remembering the starting words fondly. She'd drawn a picture of Carson on her copy, a picture of him with his arms outstretched as he flew through the skies. 'Once upon a time, there was a boy who hoped to fly…' She was just a girl who hoped to speak, but they had learned a long time ago that it would never be possible since her vocal chords had never developed properly, the effect of her premature birth.
But in that moment, she wasn't the mute photographer, she was just a girl again. She stretches her arms out and turns her face up to the sky, picturing Carson's face as he gave her one of his rare smiles—one that was filled with genuine happiness instead of bitter sarcasm. And with that image in her head, she allowed herself to fall forward, enjoying the way the air felt as it rushed past her.
The next day, after she was found, the police did a search of her home in the hopes of finding evidence of a murder or at least a suicide note, but they only found one thing of interest. It was her sketchbook, opened up on the drawing of Carson and Kate against a backdrop of rain and lightning. What caught their attention was the caption she'd put at the bottom, the caption and drawing showcased in the next addition of the magazine just below her obituary.
'Once upon a time, there was a boy who hoped to fly and a girl who hopped to speak. When the boy was struck down, the girl opened her arms and fulfilled her brother's dream for him, but she never expected the impact or the bright flood of crimson that followed.'