The Kite

By, Smeagol's girl

(A/N: This was a dream I had a few weeks ago, that still makes me smile. Not my real name used in this. Rated K+ I guess. I own nothing.)

My family was poor, like Bucket Family poor, and I was working all the time because my mom was sick and my dad was a mean, all work and no play type figure (which is not at all what he's like in reality). So I was outside in the garden, pulling weeds and I looked out and saw a kite. And for some reason kites were rare. Everyone in that neighborhood all were poor like us, and never really got to play or have fun. So seeing a kite like that was almost as strange as if I'd just found an elephant in my pajamas (how it got in my pajamas I shall never know...)

So, making sure dad wasn't watching, I snuck away and ran to where the kite was coming from. I ended up at some random abandoned house that looked ready to fall apart at any minute with all these dead trees and sort of a gothic like setting. And standing out in the middle of a patch of dead grass was Wonka, flying the kite. And it struck me as weird because he's a rich man, so what the heck is he doing in this area?

I walked up to him (I'm a very shy person, sad to say) and I stood a few feet away and watched. He glanced over at me and smiled like he already knew me or something. "Hey there," he said brightly, as if the area we were in wasn't gloomy at all. "Where did you come from?"

"Over there," I said, pointing in the direction of my house. "Where did you get that kite?"

"I made it myself," he said proudly. "I do love to fly them, very much. It's fun to watch them soar like that, although it is sad when they crash into a tree and you can't get them down."

I noticed how pale he looked (more than normal), and somehow I knew he was sick or something. He seemed to notice and he smiled sadly. "Would you like to try?"

"I've never flown one before," I said, looking down at my feet. "And I'm not allowed to. Dad's rules." He looked at me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.

"My dear girl! Who would take the time to make such a nonsensical rule? Does he hate fun, or did he never get to play when he was your age?"

"I think he just wants me around to help," I muttered. "My mom's sick... actually, she's dying, and I can't help her if I'm playing all the time."

He immediatly changed his expression to sympathy and nodded. "I lost my mom when I was young. But surely she would want you to have a little fun."

"I just... don't have time to," I said, shaking my head. "Sorry."

"Oh! No need to apologize. I completely understand. Maybe some other time then."

I shrug, knowing it's unlikely and turned to leave. Actually, I only got like two feet away from him when I nearly stepped on something. Looking down and gasping so loudly he had to have heard me, I kneeled down and scooped up in my hands a baby bird who looked like it had just hatched and had no feathers yet. Ugly, but pathetic nonetheless.

"Oh dear," I heard him say, and looked up to see him staring over my shoulder. "And there's another one right there!" He reached ahead about a foot and picked up another one, looking as ugly and helpless as the first. "Without their mother they'll die out here." I looked at him, hoping he would say something, something that would help, but he looked at me instead, expecting me to say something.

"Can't we do anything?" I asked at last.

"I don't know. Can we?" I looked up at the abandoned house and shrugged.

"Maybe there's something warm in there we can place them in." He beamed at me, but when I looked at him, he looked even more sick than before. Circles were starting to form around his eyes, and he seemed tired.

"A smart girl, you are. Lead the way then." So I got to my feet, carrying one bird and him carrying the other, and we stepped into the abandoned house. Looking around he grabbed a small basket, and I grabbed a blanket, and together we tucked the blanket in the basket gently, then placed the birds in it. We walked over to the fireplace and he lit a fire, and I sat with the basket in my lap and watched the fire, hoping it would be enough to help warm the birds.

I glanced at him, and as he sat down in a dusty chair, he seemed weak. I was beginning to fear that he would suddenly collapse or something. "Are you alright?" I asked him. He looked at me and tried to smile reassuringly.

"Don't worry about me," he said, waving it off. "I'm only tired I can assure you, my dear."

"Kate," I told him. "My name's Kate."

"Short for Kathryn?" I was quiet, but nodded. "Why don't you call yourself that then? It really is a lovely name."

"Sir, things at my house are bad. My name could be as lovely as you want, but things will still be bad, so Kate is fine for me."

"How long has it been?" he asked me. "Since your mother got sick?" The thought was painful but I sighed.

"A year," I muttered. "She hasn't gotten out of bed in six months."

"My mother had cancer," he told me. "Her immune system was weak from the treatments. She died from a cold."

"How old were you?"

"More than likely your age," he said, adjusting his seat. "It was hard, almost impossible to cope with I'll even say. Sometimes I just didn't want to leave my room, face my dad and everyone else."

"What happened then?" I asked, knowing he wasn't like that now.

"I looked out my window one morning, and it was foggy, almost as gloomy as it is here now that I remember it. I was about to go back to sleep when I saw these bright colors flying around. I didn't understand what it was, so I went outside, trying to find what it was. Do you know what I found?" I had several guesses, but I shook my head. "I found my father, flying a kite. Just out of the blue. And he was smiling too. I hadn't seen him smile in a long time. I walked over to him and he asked me if I wanted to try it. So I did. As I was flying, he looked at me and said, 'Your mother's up there, you know. She's seen your kite and knows you're there. You hear the wind? That's her whispering to you. Do you know what she's saying?'" He reached down and took the basket with the birds from me and looked down at them affectionately. "'Fly high, Willy. Fly high.'" He smiled to himself and looked back at the fire. "I didn't understand what that meant, but now I do." And then he looked at me. "You see, even in hard times, nothing can remain grounded forever." He handed the basket back to me and I looked in it, my eyes popping open. The two birds were fully grown, covered in feathers, and looking healthier than ever. I looked up at Mr. Wonka and smile, and even his sick face seemed to shine some hope.

We went back outside and set the birds free, watching them flutter around in a circle before leaving, and I glanced over at where the kite lay. Without saying anything I ran over to it and grabbed hold of the string. At once the kit leapt up into the air, and floated around gracefully, and I smiled, clinging on to the string so I wouldn't lose it. It was the first time I had played in years.

Next to me, I could hear someone coughing violently, and I looked over at Mr. Wonka, who was looking even worse. "Sir?" I said, beginning to panic, but he looked up at me, and his coughing ceased.

"I'm alright," he said softly. "Watch the kite." I looked up and watched it, feeling happy again, and I barely noticed him standing there, smiling and laughing occasionally. After about five or ten minutes I felt him step behind me, place his hands on my shoulders and kiss my cheek. "Fly high, Kathryn," he whispered softly in my ear, and then he vanished into thin air.

I began to walk home, carrying the kite with me, and as I went, I passed by a cemetery. Glancing over briefly I noticed something. In the center was a large stone figure of a man in a top hat flying a kite. I ran to it and looked at the engraving on it. "Willy B. Wonka. 1945-2005. 'Fly high.'" I gasped, not sure of what was going on, and I looked closer at the figure in the shape of him. Sitting at his feet, with her feet hanging over the side was me, watching the kite with a smile on my face.