Red Balloon

It was cold and clammy. Just like his hands which he just nervously ran through his stiff waxed hair and stopped halfway, swearing silently in his head. He forgot he had waxed his hair. He clenched his fist and jammed them into his coat pockets which were full of melted toffees. He swore silently again and sighed. She gave a light laugh and they stopped. Leaning against the railings, they stared at the grey waters.

Just as she was about to speak, he blurted out, “I want to be with you.”

She slowly tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ear and continued to stare at the waters in front of them. Then she said, almost inaudibly, “Do you see the red balloon over there?” He frantically searched for the red in the grey and nodded vehemently when he finally found it. The red balloon that she mentioned did not bob with the rhythm of the waves. It was not floating. It was almost like there was someone walking on the seabed pulling the ballon along. She spoke again softly, “Balloons are supposed to be in the sky.” He looked at her, confused. “Do you want to be the red balloon?” she asked.

The big clock tower struck twelve as he trudged down the uneven stone path. He stuck his hands into his coat pockets of melted toffees and swore silently. Only this time, his hair was not waxed like a few days ago and his socks had holes. He stopped. Leaning against the railings, he stared at a red balloon high up in the dark grey skies.