The first telltale sign that hailed fall’s coming and ushered away the sultry summer air in the city came: the red dragonflies. It was as though they emerged out of nowhere, or from the heavens. They could be seen zipping and zooming about the muggy summer city air, seemingly mindless to the roar of the infinite cars dominating the city.
     The little girl stood on the rooftop of her grandfather’s home, mesmerized by the sight of these creatures. The sight of their magnificent red tails glistening in the sun was like red summer fruits, bursting with golden sweetness on her parched tongue. Oh, how she wanted to hold one of them between her chubby toddler fingers and laugh as the the defenseless insect fluttered in vain.
     “Do not try and catch a dragonfly on your own. I’ll catch one for you sometime. You’ll only succeed in tearing one of its wings and you know what happens then,” her grandfather had fixed her with a stern stare. And so, alone on the rooftop, the little girl could only content herself with the unsatisfying activity of observing the dragonflies make their way through the city.
     How long did a dragonfly live? the girl had always wondered. Surely they couldn’t live more than a week at most. She hoped that her grandfather would live until he was one hundred.
     The girl returned to the rooftop once more, and sure enough, dozens of red dragonflies were whizzing about. Once again, they girl wished with all her heart that she could hold one in her palm. The insects seemed even brighter and redder than before, like ruby gems under the jewelry store’s glass case. But she knew the dragonflies had the most delicate of bodies, easily susceptible to even her childish strength. And so she only watched.
     But wait, what was that noise? The girl could hear something beyond the shouting of the open air market several blocks away, the simultaneous honking, and all of the other mundane sounds of the city.
     They were calling to her. The dragonflies were calling to her in their silent language. She could understand them with perfect clarity, as though the girl and the dragonflies had grown up together, in the same home, under the same parents for many decades.
     The girl carefully removed her sandals. She climbed onto the edge of the balcony of her grandfather’s rooftop, half of her feet hanging over the edge, surveyed the ground below her for a brief moment, and looked up. The kingly blue of the sky above her contrasted heavily with the medley of gray hues below in her mind's eye.
    The red dragonflies were circling about her, dancing, or were they singing? The girl couldn’t tell, but singing or dancing, they were creating something beautiful together. Something stirred in the girl’s gizzard.
    The girl gingerly reached her hand out. It seemed balanced in the muggy air for all of eternity.
     And, eons later, something landed on her hand. A small organism, so light she could barely feel its minuscule legs tickling her arm. Up close, the dragonfly was still beautiful, but not in the way she had thought it to be. Its tail was even redder than she had imagined; the exact hue of human blood. Its wings weren’t thin and papery in the shadow, but seemed to ripple like eagle’s feathers in the wind. Its face, though grotesquely bumpy and lacking almost any familiarity, had an expression of calm amusement commonly seen on none other than the girl’s grandfather.
     She could almost hear it saying to her, "Good night,”  in that warm, hot-chocolatey, elderly voice as she was tucked in bed and kissed on the forehead.
     Suddenly remembering her grandfather’s words, the girl gasped, involuntarily clasping her hand shut in surprise. Horrified, she opened her palm, hoping, praying that the little life that had been within her hold was still a little life.
     But when she saw its crumpled-candy-wrapper-like wings, she knew it was no more.
     Crystal tears darkened the uneven hues of gray cement below the girl’s feet to black. She wept bitterly, stroking the dead dragonfly like a beloved sister or mother or grandfather. She cried so much, she almost didn’t notice until it was over. Looking up from her sorrow, she found herself a part of the dragonfly’s song and dance in the moist air, zipping and zooming above her grandfather’s rooftop garden, and she knew it was done.
     She would miss everyone dearly, but mostly the little dragonfly that was no more.
     When the girl’s grandfather came up to the rooftop a few hours later to water his potted plants, all he found were her shoes beside the balcony, a lifeless little dragonfly, and dozens and dozens of red winged creatures flying about the horizon.