The Balloon Man

Different shapes, different sizes, different colours and more colours and my heart surmises.

Looking at those wonderous stuff on the cart, the actual non fiction things that can ride the air and take my messages across layers, wriggling its way higher and higher, with the sun still glinting the effervescent colour, the feeling is incredibly overwhelming.

But mommy tells me to stay away from him. Even Anne’s mommy does. They say he will kidnap us one day. She never lets me buy the balloon myself.

My heart weakens when he isn’t there everyday as he never misses, come what may. The everyday shout, “Balloons.. different shapes, different sizes, different colours and more colours…”

Mouse shape is my darling. And the yellow doll that I get for one shilling

As he huffs and puffs, as his lips touch the balloons and they get ready to touch the moon, I have never seen an iota of ‘its difficult’ on his visage which is not smiling, neither angry, nor upset. The gas ones are the best and cost two shillings but are definitely worth it.

The Balloon man didn’t come today.

There is no wind either.

As I climb up the tree to let go off the balloon that is stuck in one of the branches I am able to stare across the wall.

He sits there with his back towards the wall, looking deep into the emptiness of the air, occasionally staring at a picture in deep reverie.

Our eyes meet and he signals me to enter.

I enter the open houseless porch and he smiles at me. At this point I definitely hope to get one of the yellow doll balloons for free.

He grabs me from my hand, puts me into his sack and all I can feel next is suffocation and two feet that are running hard. All I do is shout for my mommy!
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I trust people. But it doesn’t always go my way!