On a warm day in May, when only a few clouds tripped across the sky like lambs, Gertrude Stocking began to float away. It was a clear day, with a sky so blue that it made Gertrude Stocking want to cry. She didn’t cry, though; she felt as if she was stewing in a huge pot of soup. It was that kind of day. Gertrude Stocking didn’t notice that she was floating at first, thinking that she was particularly light on her feet on this particular May day. But as she traveled up the street, Gertrude Stocking realized that her feet were no longer touching the ground. She stopped and looked down at her brown patent leather shoes. There was a good half-inch between her soles and the pavement. “Well,” said Gertrude Stocking. “Perhaps if…
“Featherweight,” A Short Story by Avi Setiawan
