The red, sky dancing balloon - A Short Story

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...there lived a spunky little girl who could often be found running through the golden cornfield hills and dancing about with the purple butterflies. One bright and dewy morning, she decided to trek to the blueberry briers, for, she wanted to make a delicious blueberry breakfast cobbler.

As she was carefully plucking her blueberry treasures and placing them into her small woven basket, she caught a glimpse of a rather unusual sight...a red balloon swirling through the air, and ever so slowly descending towards her. Suspicious, she watched it swirl, swoosh, twirl – it was dancing beautifully for her, and she squealed and clapped with glee at the sight. Soon it floated so low, that the ribbon tied to the balloon gently brushed against her pink cheek...and though she anxiously tried to catch hold, it passed by peacefully and landed softly in the brush near her feet.

Still surprised at the unusual sight, she bent carefully to examine the balloon (spilling nearly half of her blueberries out of the basket). And as her eyes traced the balloon and the attached ribbon, she soon realized this balloon had taken a very, very long sky-journey. It laid at her feet tired, and drearily bobbiling about in the tall grass...far too drowsy to take flight ever again. In fact, its bright red color didn't seem too terribly bright as she looked closer either...it was faded from the sun and thickly worn with wander-scars. And still...as she inspected the sad state of the balloon, she admired it deeply. For, she pondered; the balloon had seen things she had never seen. It had passed by unknown places, places filled with beauty, wonder and curiosity. Had this balloon seen love? Had it seen sorrow? Whose stories had it witnessed? She desperately wanted to know.

She stooped a bit lower and stretched out her pale, blueberry-stained hand in attempts to welcome the balloon. However, just as her fingers were about to stroke the red, rubbery skin, something out of the corner of her eye caused her hand to retract with a surprised “snap” of the wrist. Could it be? No. It couldn't! But, wait...what if it was? She redirected her hand and reached slowly towards the object of question...the small tattered and yellowed-paper journal carefully tied to the end of the string. How did she not notice it before!? Would this journal whisper the journey secrets that the balloon held locked inside? Excited, she grabbed the tiny booklet and flipped it back and forth between her small palms. It was leather brown with an off-white flower embroidery that traced the outside cover edges. Simply beautiful. 

Her fingers began to tremble slightly as she tried to untangle the thick ribbon-knot which held the book imprisoned. After what seemed an eternity, the book sprang free from the knotted ribbon and fell softly into her lap. She ran her hand gently over the tattered book cover, took a deep breath, closed her eyes and slowly flipped the cover page open. A few seconds past and her blue eyes fluttered open cautiously. Slowly...the words that were sprawled across the page came into focus: 

TO BE CONTINUED :) 

The Spark Beneath The Ash

Admittedly, when I first met you, I was afraid of you.
For, your heart was shadowed, and your hands had seen the blood of men.
Your eyes showed glazed with worry, and your face, greatly creased by a weathered story. Your spirit-flame was seemingly squelched – and long buried deep by mourning ash.

Yet, even so, beneath the ash and distant facade, I mustered courage to probe within your darkness. And, as I sought, I noticed the unnoticeable spark; the hope-spark which flickered and whimpered dimly in the night: “Breathe into me? Breathe into me, my love?” “Breathe into me? Breathe into me, my love?” 

Troubled, I knelt to answer its’ whispered cry:

I love you... 
I love you... 
I love you... 
I love you, I do.

As I silently spoke, the spark warmed orange, then to a red...and soon, it grew larger with heat.

And as it grew, I feared you no more...
For, where light reflects, shadows can no longer war.



 - Christi Helen, 2012

Who is Tom, from "Tom's Place?"

Today I was hungry. Hungry for bacon. I'm not a big sandwich person...slimy lunch meat, squares of cheese...it's totally not appealing to me. However, I do love me a BLT. I feel somewhat better about this lunch choice, than, say, a burger...why? Because two of the main ingredients are VEGETABLES! (All you people who are going to leave comments saying "Nuh-uh Christi, A tomato is a fruit!" just need to be quiet and let me pretend I'm healthy.)

...*eheem* So, I was hungry for bacon. A BLT sandwich to be more precise. I drove my giant silver boat, Fat Maryanne, through a Tom's Place drive-through. Tom's Place has the best BLT sandwiches in the world. If you don't believe me, you go order one and try to fit your mouth around the whole sandwich. It's impossible. Impossible I tell you! The sandwich walls are too thick to scale with one chomp. One must slowly attack and nibble it from all angles...savoring the bacon goodness with every bite.

When I arrived home, I unwrapped my BLT sandwich from it's white wrapping paper. That's another thing I love about Tom, he wraps his food in white wrapping paper and let's everybody pretend it's Christmas or their birthday on any given lunch hour. *Tear* rip* *scrape* *rip* "Wha'd you get, man?!" I got, a...a...*tear*...a...*rip*...a breakfast burrito!...Wha'd yooouu get11?" "A BLT!" "WOAH, NO WAY!" "Tom's THE MAN!" 

Tom IS the man. But, as I was sitting here nibbling on my sandwich and drinking my small Mr. Pibbs, I had a thought occur to me..."Wait a second, who is this Tom?" I quickly grabbed my laptop and Googled "Who is Tom?" Tom Anderson a US internet entrepreneur, popped up before my eyes. Although he co-founded Myspace, he was not the Tom I was looking for. My Tom makes the best BLT sandwiches in the world, what did Mr. Tom Anderson make? A failing social networking website and waaaaaaaaay too many friends on Myspace. Boo, Tom, Boo.

I tried again...

This time I Googled "Who is the Tom that makes the best BLT Sandwiches in the world? Sadly, I was greeted by this wet man:

I think his name is Tom Daley (Yes, I cheated and read the front of the magazine). And, I think he is an Olympic swimmer (totally cheated again). Or, if not, he's just a weirdo who enjoys wearing wet clothes. OBVIOUSLY, this is not the Tom I was looking for either. If this Tom tried to make the best BLT sandwich, he would totally fail, because it would be soggy. Gross, Tom. Go wring yourself out.

My quest continued...I turned to my handy dandy Google search bar again: "Who is the Tom from Tom's Place?"

Curses! A very tiny picture of Sparkly TOM shoes was the first thing that came up. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good pair of sparkly TOM shoes. However, shoes do not lead me to the Tom who is Tom from Tom's Place!!!

I was feeling rather defeated but gave it one last try. Perhaps Tom had an "About Me" page on his restaurant website: I Googled "Tom's Place Restaurant." 

...Nothing.
...Nada.
...Ziltch.


By all interweb standards, Tom's Place does not exist outside of a few reviews on Yelp. I could find nothing on the Tom who makes the best BLT sandwiches in the world. And, that makes me rather sad. Part of me wants to know what he looks(ed) like, the face behind my favorite sandwich. But, alas, perhaps Tom is just destined to be my mystery sandwich man.

Thanks for my awesome BLT, Tom.
...Whoever you are.