Wilting in the morning sun, the balloon was tethered to a hedgerow.
Brambles jutted out dangerously close from all points of a compass - as if a balloon could even use one.
Tiny gusts of wind buffeted and forced the balloon to sway perilously close to a spiky end.
Crumpled and leaking helium, the balloon was at a low ebb. An inevitable comedown...of sorts.
Last night was joyous. Bouncing off the ceiling. Hoisted high. Palmed around the room. Part of a huge game of keepy-ups. Smiles, laughs, bubbles and cake.
There had been song and dance.
Happiness.
Now, in this half-light, bouncing brilliantly bright across an unbroken sky, any shadow that could be found left thick layers of dew on the ground.
Balloon was drenched. The shimmer the condensation gave over the balloon’s shrinking mass began to interest a couple of magpies who were in for a bit of the shiny business. Heads bobbing, beady eyed, they fluttered and flapped - not unlike those on the dancefloor waving their limbs around to Dexy’s Midnight Runners a few hours ago.
“50!” the balloon had emblazoned in garish typeface across it’s midriff.
‘Life begins at 50' it had been said numerous times the evening before. Fingers jutting at chests, backs being slapped, hands being shook.
It had been a good party. Family, friends...secrets and lies.
It was nearly midnight when Balloon had suddenly been whipped out of the sweaty hall, dragged through double doors and hauled into the cooler night. Birthday Girl was clutching him tight by his cord, she had flowers, chocolates and a bottle of bubbly wedged tight in her fingers.
He’d seen stars, millions. It was beautiful. He’d been yanked toward a taxi with sliding doors. The revellers had jumped in. Dizzy and out of character. Inhibitions well and truly forgotten. Birthday Girl was slipping into melancholy - the slow realization that the end of celebrations meant the acceptance of reality.
Of looking in the mirror.
The door slammed shut, Balloon’s cord was cut.
The pseudo-umbilical released.
Reborn and set free.
Upward he tumbled. Up, up, up. The view was incredible. A parachute jump in reverse. The buildings became, cubes, became, specks, became blurs.
And then he passed out.
When he awoke, it was this morning and this hedgerow.
These brambles, and these flippin’ Magpies.
And with one last sigh, the balloon gave up.
The brambles drew closer and the magpies swooped.
