Will It Fly?
by Cheryl Wood Ruggiero
--Will it fly? What do you think, Yammet?
--Well, Sis, the lifthold is full of wist, so at least it will rise.
--You mean wish, right?
--No. Wist. Not wish. Wish was enough for the 1/27 scale prototype, but for the real thing you need wist--the stuff of knew, as in the old "wist ye not?" and so on.
--You thought you were filling it with wish? Here, let me siphon out a wisp... yes, it's wist. Good quality, too. Very energetic. Whose is it?
--Aunt Illy's? No wonder you thought it was wish! I didn't know Aunt Illy wist anything at all!"
I feel us gently come unglued.
--We're off, Yam!
--No grief! Stop! We're falling!
--None of that, either. Shut up, Yam. Wish, Brother. Wish!
And we are soaring. We rise through the rosy-fingered dawn, glide the arc of each ethereal sphere until we gain the momentum to chime through it to the next, and the next, and on. And now then, we are Beyond.