(no subject)
The balloon tugged on the little boy’s hand. “I want to explore.” it called out. The little boy held on tight determined not to let it fly away.
The boy would take it home and let it push against the ceiling. He would play with it by pulling it down and watching it fly up again. As the balloon aged it would float somewhere the middle of the room and later lie gently on the floor. The boy would still play with it by batting it lightly and watch it float lazily around the room. Older still the balloon would lay wrinkled and small on the floor, no longer able to float. The boy would still play with it by squeezing it to make it puff out like a frog’s throat. Eventually the balloon would be a lifeless skin and the boy would be sad. But the balloon didn’t want a life contained by 4 rooms and ruled by ceilings. It wanted to escape the mundane and see the world.
The little boy tripped. His hands flew out in front of him to stop his fall. The balloon took this opportunity to pull itself free and fly off. “No! It’s gonna die.” said the boy ignoring his scraped knee and watching the balloon fly away.
The balloon floated up. The world below began to shrink. The boy became smaller than the balloon. Soon the balloon pasted the tallest building revealing a distant horizon. The balloon was awed, the world was bigger than it had ever imagined.
“Don’t cry honey,” said the boy’s mom “we can get you another balloon.”
“You don’t understand mom.” said the boy dismissively.
The balloon rose even higher. The people on the street became gnats and the cars became beetles constantly eating them and spitting them back out. A cloud floated by brushing against the balloon. The balloon’s body began to expand in the decreasing pressure of the air. The city became a grey lesion on a green and brown world. The cold air began to make the balloon’s skin more and more brittle. Eventually a sparkling blue ocean appeared in the distance. Everything was so beautiful, so extraordinary, so new. The balloon was the happiest it had ever been. Pop.
The boy would take it home and let it push against the ceiling. He would play with it by pulling it down and watching it fly up again. As the balloon aged it would float somewhere the middle of the room and later lie gently on the floor. The boy would still play with it by batting it lightly and watch it float lazily around the room. Older still the balloon would lay wrinkled and small on the floor, no longer able to float. The boy would still play with it by squeezing it to make it puff out like a frog’s throat. Eventually the balloon would be a lifeless skin and the boy would be sad. But the balloon didn’t want a life contained by 4 rooms and ruled by ceilings. It wanted to escape the mundane and see the world.
The little boy tripped. His hands flew out in front of him to stop his fall. The balloon took this opportunity to pull itself free and fly off. “No! It’s gonna die.” said the boy ignoring his scraped knee and watching the balloon fly away.
The balloon floated up. The world below began to shrink. The boy became smaller than the balloon. Soon the balloon pasted the tallest building revealing a distant horizon. The balloon was awed, the world was bigger than it had ever imagined.
“Don’t cry honey,” said the boy’s mom “we can get you another balloon.”
“You don’t understand mom.” said the boy dismissively.
The balloon rose even higher. The people on the street became gnats and the cars became beetles constantly eating them and spitting them back out. A cloud floated by brushing against the balloon. The balloon’s body began to expand in the decreasing pressure of the air. The city became a grey lesion on a green and brown world. The cold air began to make the balloon’s skin more and more brittle. Eventually a sparkling blue ocean appeared in the distance. Everything was so beautiful, so extraordinary, so new. The balloon was the happiest it had ever been. Pop.