The Balloon Man - A SHORT STORY
On a bulletin board in October, 2019 at ISCC was a flyer that invited prisoners to submit a story for a contest. In that the time for notifying the first, second and third place winners has passed (and I apparently did not win, place or show), I share my story with you... enjoy
The Balloon Man (By Dale Shackelford)
Crawling from his cardboard home before dawn, walls weakened by the early morning dew bending at the slightest touch, he moves only as fast as his chilled aching bones and joints will allow. Again this day... the balloon man rises alone.
Watched by all yet unseen, he makes his way to the boardwalk in search of a meal, hoping to best the seagulls, rats and feral dogs that patrol the piers and the sanitation workers emptying bins in preparation for a new day. Despite those all around, the balloon man walks alone.
A piece of mishandled pastry covered with ants and a sour sandwich, the trash of others providing what may well be his days fare, made palatable by half a soda, the label faded and scrubbed by sun and sand as it bobbed in the surf. He chews with rotted teeth, his weathered face and filmy eyes taking in the earliest of the sun's rays from over the ocean as he fingers found coins in his torn pocket - laid as if by fate upon the ground, glinting in the moonlight as he sought the warmth of the cooling sun on the baked asphalt of the parking lot the night before. He gives silent thanks for what they will bring this day... and the balloon man weeps alone.
The sun finally clears the horizon, pulling the chill from his body as the world begins to stir. Lovers walk along the shoreline hand in hand, their silhouettes outlined in oranges and reds. Sounds and smells from businesses readying for the day, filling the air with the smell of sausage, popcorn, cakes and treats to fill the imaginations with delight. People pass by and frown at his unkempt hair peeking from under a wrinkled fedora, his shabby, threadbare clothes and worn through shoes lined with cardboard and tied together with bits of cloth. To them he returns a silent smile and nod of hello... and the balloon man waits alone.
High in the sky lifts the sun and he listens to the sound of the children playing, building sandcastles that will not survive the day, a cacophony of insects and of music emanating from the myriad storefronts with candy-striped awnings flapping in the light breeze and vendor carts with giant umbrellas moving slowly along the boardwalk, bells ringing a familiar tune... while the balloon man listens alone.
He strolls the beach, head high and eyes alive - the smell of oils and lotions covering the fair skin of tourists and the sweet smell of cotton candy and funnel cakes surrounding them all. Colorful orbs of air on strings rise above his head - the reds, greens and yellows contrasting against the impossibly blue sky and diamond sparklets upon the water - balloons purchased with his precious found coins. People call to him, young and old - they seek him out, smiles and faces filled with wonder, happines and joy, thanking him as he passes to them no more than tethered gas and a quick wink of a wrinkled eye... both free for the taking... and the balloon man is not alone.
The sun sets silently over the now quiet buildings, casting long shadows into the sudsy brine where small crabs scour the beach. Shops, silent and plain, boarded up, their awnings, music and majesty stored away until next summer again arrives - owners calling farewells and goodnights to each other before slamming car doors and disappearing into the dusk for the winter. He joins the creatures of the night as they emerge to scavenge bits and morsels left by others, dropped, tossed or forgotten, scrounging for sustenance in the refuse and sand while stragglers on their way to their cars watch with disgust and pity... and the balloon man searches alone.
The night has swallowed the sun as he wraps himself again in his cardboard tomb - bracing against the cold north winds and mist. He pulls his tattered jacket tight and jams his cracked, swollen hands into his empty pockets aganst the ocean air and feels the emptiness reflected in his soul. As he lay listening to the wind and waves, waiting for sleep to take him, he dreams of the colors, happiness and joy he has shared this day... until the balloon man dies alone.
The Balloon Man (By Dale Shackelford)
Crawling from his cardboard home before dawn, walls weakened by the early morning dew bending at the slightest touch, he moves only as fast as his chilled aching bones and joints will allow. Again this day... the balloon man rises alone.
Watched by all yet unseen, he makes his way to the boardwalk in search of a meal, hoping to best the seagulls, rats and feral dogs that patrol the piers and the sanitation workers emptying bins in preparation for a new day. Despite those all around, the balloon man walks alone.
A piece of mishandled pastry covered with ants and a sour sandwich, the trash of others providing what may well be his days fare, made palatable by half a soda, the label faded and scrubbed by sun and sand as it bobbed in the surf. He chews with rotted teeth, his weathered face and filmy eyes taking in the earliest of the sun's rays from over the ocean as he fingers found coins in his torn pocket - laid as if by fate upon the ground, glinting in the moonlight as he sought the warmth of the cooling sun on the baked asphalt of the parking lot the night before. He gives silent thanks for what they will bring this day... and the balloon man weeps alone.
The sun finally clears the horizon, pulling the chill from his body as the world begins to stir. Lovers walk along the shoreline hand in hand, their silhouettes outlined in oranges and reds. Sounds and smells from businesses readying for the day, filling the air with the smell of sausage, popcorn, cakes and treats to fill the imaginations with delight. People pass by and frown at his unkempt hair peeking from under a wrinkled fedora, his shabby, threadbare clothes and worn through shoes lined with cardboard and tied together with bits of cloth. To them he returns a silent smile and nod of hello... and the balloon man waits alone.
High in the sky lifts the sun and he listens to the sound of the children playing, building sandcastles that will not survive the day, a cacophony of insects and of music emanating from the myriad storefronts with candy-striped awnings flapping in the light breeze and vendor carts with giant umbrellas moving slowly along the boardwalk, bells ringing a familiar tune... while the balloon man listens alone.
He strolls the beach, head high and eyes alive - the smell of oils and lotions covering the fair skin of tourists and the sweet smell of cotton candy and funnel cakes surrounding them all. Colorful orbs of air on strings rise above his head - the reds, greens and yellows contrasting against the impossibly blue sky and diamond sparklets upon the water - balloons purchased with his precious found coins. People call to him, young and old - they seek him out, smiles and faces filled with wonder, happines and joy, thanking him as he passes to them no more than tethered gas and a quick wink of a wrinkled eye... both free for the taking... and the balloon man is not alone.
The sun sets silently over the now quiet buildings, casting long shadows into the sudsy brine where small crabs scour the beach. Shops, silent and plain, boarded up, their awnings, music and majesty stored away until next summer again arrives - owners calling farewells and goodnights to each other before slamming car doors and disappearing into the dusk for the winter. He joins the creatures of the night as they emerge to scavenge bits and morsels left by others, dropped, tossed or forgotten, scrounging for sustenance in the refuse and sand while stragglers on their way to their cars watch with disgust and pity... and the balloon man searches alone.
The night has swallowed the sun as he wraps himself again in his cardboard tomb - bracing against the cold north winds and mist. He pulls his tattered jacket tight and jams his cracked, swollen hands into his empty pockets aganst the ocean air and feels the emptiness reflected in his soul. As he lay listening to the wind and waves, waiting for sleep to take him, he dreams of the colors, happiness and joy he has shared this day... until the balloon man dies alone.