No Resistance

At sunrise, a woman drifts above the city into a fragile space between sky and sea

The balloon lifted just after sunrise, when the city below was still shaking sleep from its windows. Lilith stood in the wicker basket as the burner roared and then the ground eased away. Streets narrowed into slits; rooftops flattened. Up here, the air felt deliberate, as if each breath had been measured.

She drifted out over the water, where the sky’s reflection trembled. From this height, the ocean looked touchable, like a sheet of glass someone had forgotten to clean. She imagined a starfish far below, clinging patiently to a rock and that thought made her smile—the comfort of small lives continuing, and she could only imagine.

The wind nudged the balloon east. In the distance was a sailboat with a single white sail that caught the light like a held breath. It seemed impossibly slow, and she felt a flicker of envy for its certainty: the water beneath, the horizon ahead.

The air moved the balloon into gentle circles. It wasn’t the violent pull of a whirlpool, but it reminded her of one—an unseen turning that asked her to surrender control. The burner flared again, correcting their drift, and the basket steadied. She realized how little effort it took to float when nothing inside resisted.

She believed a storm was brewing miles away as she saw the sky darken at the edges. From its belly, a thin column descended, a spinning braid of wind and rain—a waterspout practicing its balance between sky and sea. Lilith watched it in silence, awed by how the world stitched itself together into temporary seams.