By Mehreen Ahmed

“Paint the city red,” Lara cried from above at the top of her voice. 

“Why, though?” I asked. The city looks fine as it is,” I yelled back. 

“‘Cause, by painting the city red, you’d be able to fly,” Lara insisted. 

“Why red?" Green grass, blue sky, white clouds, seven rainbow colours after every rain,” I reasoned. “Maybe I have all the colours I need around me. Why would I want to fly in red?"

After a pause, she added, “You do realise that there's nothing over you. You're on an open orbit?”

I answered. "Yes, but I have a house with a roof that hasn't fallen. The rolling meadows — where the cows are still grazing — haven't moved or fallen out of the orbit. So why must I paint it all red?” 

She responded. “You may not have fallen now, the cows may not have either, but you are in an illusion of security; in a circle of illusion where you feel secured in the belief that you have stability, and, yes, while you still have that stability although you don't have a roof over you, you are exposed to elements, and from the top I see how vulnerable you look.” Her voice quivered as it reached my ears, clearly frightened that I would fall over and would not be found. 

“But I feel secure and stable. No need to find me,” I said. 

“Alas,” she said, “You're clueless, what makes you feel so secure?"

“Whatever keeps me secure will make sure that it is infinite. The infinite makes me feel secure. What difference would painting the city red make? It's already green, no?" 

I sat on the green grass of the orbit. Sure, there wasn’t a roof over me. So what? I looked up, the sky was luminous red. The city was actually turning red. Did Lara do that? Had she painted the city red? The orbit began to shake, becoming hot, then hotter. The cows were floating, the meadows were too, as I was — lifted off. 

I was flying, at last.

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