Bright Blessings

He came every week. Never on the same street corner two weeks running, and that was half the fun.   Kids would run all over Bridgetown looking for him, The Balloon Man. We’d never seen balloons like his before. Always animals, but they were so real! Beasts of every shape and size, but that wasn’t the only surprise about our town balloon seller. After chasing all over town kids would eventually track him down. He only ever carried one balloon and we all wanted it, but being first in line had no bearing on who got the gift. He’d look at the kids, a slow, lazy consideration, and then he’d say the same thing every time: ‘Ah, that’s the one.’ He’d hand the balloon to the lucky kid, the rest of us pretty much green with envy, before walking away without further comment. Growing up we all wanted a balloon and I think most got one over the years. There didn’t seem to be much of an age limit. I’d seen kids as old as 12 handed a balloon, seen their eyes light up same as any ...

“What… is that?” It was the first sign of interest Blake had shown since he and Anna had arrived to look over the house. She couldn’t figure out why he was so disinterested in a free and clear home, an inheritance from her grandma. It rankled the more because Anna had so many happy memories of summers there. Following his gaze she spotted the tiny door set just above the wainscot, the teeny ladder which gave access. “Oh wow, I can’t believe it’s still there!” she cooed, clapping her hands in delight, “The fairy door!” “The what?” “I told you I used to stay here, summer holidays and that, right?” Blake nodded, his eyes wandering the room, judging and finding wanting. “Well, Grandma had a tribe of house fairies who used to come out and do the housework overnight. She always said it was how she managed to spend all day playing with us kids and still keep the house spotless.” “And you believed that? Geez, thought you had more sense.”   To hide the hurt, Anna kn...

Carl drove away from the flooded quarry, humming quietly to himself. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, head bobbing to the beat pouring from the radio. Empty road, WKMF All Rock Radio, and a new job tomorrow; life could be good. He glanced at the bright red stiletto hanging from the rear view mirror by its shredded strap and grinned. An hour later, halfway between back there and up ahead, he caressed the shoe a final time, and then hurled it out the passenger window. It cartwheeled a couple of times, dropped and was lost in the weedy depths of the verge. He drove on, power ballads winging him to another nameless backwater.                                                           ...