So, I had to write a story for an English project. And we had to come up with pseudonyms and have people guess who wrote certain stories. Did I spell that right? Pseudonym, I mean? Gah, I dunno. And I am too lazy to use spell check. And too lazy to do my homework, apparently. But anyway, I digress, which is the coolest word ever . . .

So, I had to write the story and I was like, damn, what the hell am I gonna write about? So, I was talking to Amy and she told me to write about an emo balloon. This is the end result.

Oh, and Hannah, if you read this, you can't give my name out, okay? Cuz that ruins everything!

The Depressing Tale of the Emo Balloon

Once upon a time there was a lone red balloon. He had lived most of his existence in a Party Warehouse until one rainy February day. The store was preparing for Valentine’s Day when a bunch of teenagers with weird hair and clothes entered the store, intent on causing mayhem. The balloon watched as they knocked boxes off the shelves and kicked displays over. When the teens seemed satisfied with their work they went to the front counter and bought M&Ms. One of the teens, a boy with side swept bangs and jeans that had to have belonged to his little sister, had been eyeing the balloon the entire time and encouraged the others to buy it for him. They did so eagerly, the boy tying the string of the balloon around his wrist and thanking the others. As they were filing out the Party Warehouse, the manager came out and realizing all of the destruction that had taken place, chased the kids out, using a few choice words to describe what he would do to them if they ever stepped foot on the property again.

As they walked down the street, the boy with the bangs swayed his arm back and forth, admiring the pretty red balloon on his arm. He encouraged his friends to take out their camera phones and they all took a bunch of pictures with the balloon, a trash can, and a few street sign was during one of the pictures with a street pole that the string around the boy’s wrist got loose and the balloon drifted away. It totally reminded all of them of a layout they’d seen on Myspace. The boy with the bangs remarked that he’d write a poem about it when he got back home. He felt weighed down by sorrow at the loss of the pretty red balloon, a choking, evil sorrow which was intent on destroying him, tightening its hold until he died. That sensation lasted for approximately two seconds before the boy suggested that they should go to Jack In The Box and order some of those Monster Tacos, the ones with the meat that wasn’t really meat. The others eagerly agreed.

Meanwhile, the balloon continued to drift away. It was going through the same anguish the boy had felt two seconds before. It had been with the boy for only a few minutes but already the balloon felt as though it had known the boy it’s entire life. The balloon was feeling intense anguish and it wanted to relieve some of its pain.

So the balloon cut itself as a way to escape the grief.

The balloon seemed to have forgotten that it was, in fact, a balloon, but in one second it had a realization that balloons aren’t designed to live with holes in it -

The balloon exploded.

The End