One day, colorful dots specked the sky as if a rainbow exploded. When they drifted to the ground, we discovered toy balloons. One had a note tied to its string. Abner Elementary, Class of ‘65. A decades-old message.
Somehow the balloons, given up by oops and intent over the years, had survived and returned from the up and away.
When a balloon rode a gust through the door of a bank, popped and startled a robber into dropping his gun, we thought the balloons were a blessing.
When one tangled in a windshield wiper, causing a pileup, we believed they were a curse.
We came to accept they had no morality and enjoyed how they gathered like city pigeons at our feet and brightened our daily humdrum.
One day the balloons began rising again. We watched until they disappeared, like fading memories, into the up and away.
David Henson and his wife have lived in Belgium and Hong Kong over the years and now reside in Illinois. His work has been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes, Best Small Fictions and Best of the Net and has appeared in numerous print and online journals including The Metaworker, Fictive Dream, Pithead Chapel, Moonpark Review, Literally Stories and Fiction on the web. His website is http://writings217.wordpress.com. His Twitter is @annalou8.
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