The love inside of the balloon and other short stories

Keiran’s first death:

Keiran cried for one day without stopping. Someone had passed away in the family. A distant Grandmother had died in his family. Keiran was eight years old. This was his first death. His father had woke him and told him early this morning

“Maw died in her sleep…” The words were spoken solemly but without urgency as if all along it had been expected.

These words held a silence that spread over the entire day. He wept in his bed, he wept over his breakfast, he wept walking through the park, he wept in the supermarket aisles, he wept in the car, he wept on the couch, he wept in the bathroom, he wept at the dinner table, he wept in his bedroom and finally he wept in his sleep.

The next day he did not cry a single, solitary tear - he had thought out death.

The love inside of the balloon:

This is a short story about one large red balloon filled with love that a small child let go of and how it kept floating up, up, up into the air and everyone panicked for the child, for the balloon and for the love inside of the balloon. The child cried. People stretched arms high, clutched at the sky in a last scrambled attempt to catch hold, but no one could bring it back down now; it continued to float away, further and farther, higher up in to the atmosphere, escaping in to space where, like an illusion, it eventually popped.

The window pane:

The window is crying. The tears are disguised by rain drops. The window is so lonely, so invisible and thin. It stares out blankly. It cannot move or call out. It cannot make itself known.

The window is crying. It has no hands to cover its face. It has no face. It is simply a window pane that people look out from or in through, and that can be great company, especially when a warm hand presses against the glass momentarily.

The window is crying - it stares, bare glass, thin, skeletal. The tears roll and fall in regularity with the rain. The night is dark, the amber light from the street lamps cast out. The traffic is unconcerned. The window is shattered and lonely in the distance.

In all my years as an idiot I cannot believe this monster piece of childlike simplicity was over looked.

“-O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?” - Wilfred Owen

I shall cry myself to sleep on a giant pillow!! :frowning:

“And so God made cheese,
and it was good,
And God was pleased
And spread it all over the
World…”

  • Excerpt, from the lesser known tales of God…

I love your work colinsign in all it’s childishness. I love it. And since we are childish today is MY BIRTHDAY.

:smiley: :smiley: :smiley: :smiley: :smiley: :smiley:

A

Happy Birthday liquidangel!!! (^)

I hope you had a bright sunny day for it! :sunglasses: :sunglasses:

Summer was cancelled this year. I’m starting to think that the sun is an urban legend. But it did Rain! Delightful, delicious iris carressing Rain!

:smiley:

A

Angel, many happy returns!

Colin, as per usual your lack of maturity has shown us the way…

…and your work is never overlooked colinsign. NO not ever!

A

siatd: Colin, as per usual your lack of maturity has shown us the way…

someone, how modest of you, you do flatter me so…:laughing: