Growing up, I never seemed capable of holding a balloon for too long. Be it 1 luftballon or 99, I was never able to stop the pores of my palms from flooding. The strings would always slip through my grip and off the balloon would go. Some balloons were blue. Some were green. Some balloons were gargantuan, and others minuscule.
At a young age, I found a glass balloon. Coated in a shawl made from the skin of an iceberg, I admired it. I treasured the glass balloon and kept it from others.
It was soon after its discovery that I wrapped the balloon around my index finger instead of gripping it. I fell in love with my idea for I could keep the balloon at a distance but pull it close when I needed it. It could never slip and slide away.
Over the years, I stuck with the glass balloon. Other people began to take notice of the glimmering object made taut on my finger. I befriended those who sought my balloon. However, I kept the balloon away from them at all costs. I accumulated many balloons similar to my glass balloon in my childhood.
I saw many balloons come and go. Many of them flew away. The glass balloon however, stayed within eyesight through all of this. There was something oddly reassuring about the lustrous shimmer that the balloon let off. The shawl was a faded gray at this time. With the eyes of a crow, I spotted a faint hue of gold. Excitement ignited in my chest as I raced to this glow. There it was.
A beacon of light showed up in a time of eclipse. There was a halo attached to what I had found. A ventriloquists’ dummy was lying on the ground. Awaiting admiration. With an opportunistic head, I grabbed the dummy.
Without need of my glass balloon, I cut its string from my finger. It didn’t float away, however. Instead it sunk to the ground in a miserable lump. It was as dejected as the laundry that fell out of the hamper on your way to the laundry room. I still saw that others would have sought the glass balloon. So, I yanked away its angelic shawl and it turned to a midnight black cut straight from the cloth of night. The balloon still looked up at me. I raised my leg and shattered the balloon. Making a speedy escape, I took the halo of the dummy and placed it upon my own head.
From what I hear, the glass balloon was able to put some of itself back together. But without its ivory shawl, the balloon turned to otherworldly realities to make up for what it lost.