The Boy & the Red Balloon 

A Creative Writing Flash Fiction by Kaiya Maclay

The day started off as any other. Warm and sunny with a hint of rain. Clouds rolled across the expanse of sky. Leaves swayed in the breeze. Sidewalks of cement. Grass perfectly trimmed. Rows of houses, each aligned just right. Down the block to the right, a bright two-story yellow house lined with white trimming like a custard pie. On the lawn, a sprinkler moved back and forth, coating a red tricycle in water. Sunlight streamed down, drying the bike only for it to be wet again. An ongoing battle between technology and nature. The wooden door gleamed, welcoming all. The brass doorknob stood out, the only one on the block. Voices could be heard from inside; laughing, talking, joyous. The door swings open and an older girl exits, smiling, waving goodbye, backpack slung round her shoulder. A bus pulls up to the corner, the girl steps into the yellow creature. A young boy runs out of the house, he grabs her arm before she can fully leave. She looks down startled but surprise quickly passes, replaced by a heartwarming smile. His grip is tight, not letting her go. She gently pries his hand off, giving him a kiss on the top of his brown hair. Stepping onto the bus she disappears out of sight only to reappear at a window on the far end, her head popping out, her hair spilling behind her. She waves goodbye as the bus speeds away. The boy looks as if he might follow but right as he’s made a decision an older woman in a bun opens the door and brings him back inside. Without fighting he follows, his gaze no longer on the bus long gone; but to the sky. 

O<~~ 

The boy slightly older now stands in front of the red school building, its bricks packed with knowledge. He fidgets with the sleeve on his uniform. A bottle green blazer with rolled up navy trousers. 

“Stop fidgeting. I just pressed your uniform,” a voice interrupts. The view shifts to the ever-present woman with the bun. 

The boy looks up and immediately drops his hands. 

The woman kneels to face him, “You’re gonna do great. Trust me.”  

The boy nods, looking into her eyes, but his hand picks at his uniform. She grabs his hand, holding it. They stay like that for a moment, then she stands up quickly. Too quickly, I move up. 

“Time for you to go.” 

She nudges him towards the door where a teacher is ushering kids in. He shrinks back, but with a harder nudge; he has no choice but to go into the looming building. 

O<~~

School drones on, and no one wants to be bored with that. The sky is cloudy, rain is coming. Finally, the bell rings. Kids rush out in waves, lunchboxes in hand. The boy trudges after, glancing around the plastic playground, its colors bright and unusual. He makes his way to a tree in the far corner, lunchbox in hand, an emblem of flowers and smiley faces. The perfect target. 

“Hey, new kid, where you think you're going?” a voice calls out. It's an older boy followed by two henchmen. 

“I’m going to eat,” his voice is quiet, timid. 

“Did you grab your sissy’s lunch?” The older boy asks, his voice full of mock sincerity. 

“N…no it’s mine.” he clutches it tighter.

“Yuh…Yuh…Yours?” the older boys cronie splutters.

His friend chimes in, “Whatcha gonna eat? Cookies with pink frosting and sprinkles. Like a whittle girl.” 

The two throw their heads back, laughing. Their leader glances back, his expression unamused.

“Never mind them,” he says, turning back to the boy. “As payment, you gotta give me your lunch.” 

I’m watching the encounter from above, always above. 

The boy opens his mouth, he should stay silent, “P..Payment for what?” 

“For being here, on our grounds.” The leader crosses his arms, his sidekicks look at the boy menacingly.

I watch helplessly as they shove him to the ground, knocking his lunchbox, scattering the contents. 

   “Yo, my dog's food is better than this rubbish!” they laugh, strutting away. 

The young boy staggers to his feet; he stares down at his hand-packed lunch. Tears fill his eyes. This will continue, the bullying, harassment, that's the way the world works. Anyone seen as ‘different’ experiences it. We all do. 

Almost as if the boy hears my thoughts, his gaze turns upward. 

A red balloon in the sky, observing. 

O<~~ 

Years pass, the once young boy journeying through the hardships of primary now grown, experiencing life. He’s standing outside an office building, antsy, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. Taking a deep breath he goes to pull the door open, at that moment a woman rushes out. They collide into each other. He looks up, ready to apologize, but his words die. The woman in front of him stares back. Eyes of honey framed by chestnut curls. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, “I’m so sorry that was an accident. I wasn't watching where I was going.” 

Her voice is captivating, filling the man with a strange sense. He opens his mouth; no words come out. He hadn’t been this nervous since asking Alice to Friday dance in Year 5. Even then, this feeling was stronger, like a burning sensation kindling inside. His mouth shuts. 

“Okay, well, goodbye, it was nice meeting you!” She pats his chest pocket, turning and walking away. 

Her perfume fills the man's nose, its sweet scent enveloping him in a warm feeling. He goes to call out, say anything before she’s gone, but every word halts in his throat. He needs this job now. 

  O<~~ 

Weeks pass. He can’t seem to get her off his mind. Replaying small encounters they’ve had. At the snack station. Her favorite: cinnamon rolls. The coffee cart, caramel latte. Each heartwarming smile, each joyous laugh. Lying in bed at night, unable to sleep, waiting for tomorrow. To see her red bag on the stand and know she's there. 

He’s waiting outside by her bike—yes, he memorized her bike. Blue with tan seat, basket on front. He holds a flower in his hand, his fingers curling and uncurling from the stem. The flash of her hair as she exits. Walking over, she stops seeing him. 

“Would you maybe…um…want to um… go out with me?” his voice holds slight confidence. 

She laughs, he tenses, “About time, silly.” His shoulders relax, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. 

“Good,” he replies, squaring his shoulders, “Oh.” He looks down, “These are for you.” 

He hands her the flower, she takes it, inspecting, “How’d you know this was my favorite?” 

“Lucky guess. Yellow seems too bright, pink too perky. You love lavender, so I thought…” he trails off flustered. 

She laughs, pulling him along as they make their way to a cafe, together. 

O<~~

Sitting at a cafe, a waiter comes up to them; he takes their order. Walking off, he notices a balloon drifting close. He grabs it, tying it to the chair at the next table. 

When the waiter grabs my string, I tense up, tying me to the chair. I feel grounded, no longer soaring the skies from above. The two don't seem to notice, too engrossed in their conversation. I silently thank the waiter; this offers a better view for my perspective. So, I settle and listen.