Guilliean reads her short story. Stream it and read along with the text!
“What a pretty balloon,” remarked the lady.
I looked up. It was a plain latex balloon, purple, tied off with two strings, weighed down by yellow, heart-shaped weights.
“Is it yours?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you should take it,” she said. “It suits you.”
I shook my head. Wherever I was going, I didn’t need a balloon. I began to walk. I wasn’t even sure where I was. I wasn’t even sure where I was going. But it was quiet, and I knew I wasn’t alone. I felt free if that made sense.
“Ow,” I said, a sharp pain erupting in my right wrist. I looked down at it. It was crooked. And bruised. I shook my arm gently and cried out in pain again. When did I break it? What was the black stuff embedded in my arm?
Running a business is difficult enough. You’ll get the most out of your story if you hire a pro. Leave all the behind-the-scenes stuff to writer and editor Guilliean Pacheco. Go to writeropolis.com/linkinbio, all one word, to find out more.
I saw the balloon again. From the corner of my eye. I turned my head abruptly, refusing its existence. I used my left arm to prop up my damaged wrist so I could continue my journey. I couldn’t quite piece together where I was going.
I was on a road now, and I could see the headlights of the cars going past me. I tried to wave them down, jumping up and down and screaming, and I guess I must’ve landed wrong because my ankle gave way.
I crumpled to the ground, howling in pain. My entire right side was electrified by searing pain. I smelled gasoline. I smelled an acrid scent I couldn’t place. I smelled the summer weeds that reminded me of my childhood driving up and down 132.
I looked up at the balloon that hadn’t left my side. There were headlights headed for me but I had no reflexes left to move. I saw the car stop short of me, crunching on the tempered glass pooled around me.
I blinked. And saw the balloon again. Only it turned to look at me. It had black circles on its face. They were its eyes. It had a yellow-shaped X where its mouth would be. The tuft of white on its head looked like clouds.
Hey you guys, it’s me, Guilliean, the host of City of Writers Radio. You can’t be a devoted listener of this podcast without being a reader yourself. Why don’t you support indie bookstores by purchasing your next books from Bookshop.org? Supporting indie bookstores is a deeply abiding passion of mine. If you haven’t thought about where your money goes when purchasing a book, I hope you’ll consider purchasing through my Bookshop soon. Go to writeropolis.com/linkinbio, all one word, for a direct link. I appreciate your support!
“Miss?” said the voice. It was a man. He had kind eyes.
“Oh my god, I think she’s…” said another voice. A woman. I felt the fear in her voice.
“Better call the cops,” the man said.
The balloon came to float beside me. Its heart-shaped hand reached for me. I took it as it helped me stand up. I couldn’t understand why it could hold my weight.
In the brightness of the headlights, in the darkness of that night, I saw the old lady again.
“Grandma Ethel,” I muttered.
I had few memories of her.
“Hello ducky,” she said gently. “Are you ready to go?”
I looked up at the balloon. It turned to smile at me.
“Yes, Grandma, I’m ready to go.”
Creativity extends beyond words here at City of Writers Radio. Enhance your written words with striking images and sophisticated fonts. Take your projects to the next level with millions of legit products on Creative Market. From concept to design, you can work seamlessly with creative professionals worldwide. Visit writeropolis.com/linkinbio, all one word, for a direct link.
Letting others know you like a tiny but mighty podcast is the kindest thing you can do. To get started, check me out on Podchaser. Leave 5 stars. Tell everybody!