Evil is a red balloon, floating high above a child’s empty grasp.
Tears, tears pouring out of the child’s eyes like sheets of rain,
Filling a crease in his Oshkosh corduroys.
Pounding, pounding, on the headrest in front.
Screeching to a halt, the car lurches.
All is silent.
No more screaming.
No more tears.
The door opens.
The driver gets out.
Closes the door with intense concentration.
A sniffle comes from the child, only to be silenced by the glare of the other passenger.
The driver comes back, and immediately the child’s eyes change.
The child’s face fills with never-ending elation.
The child is handed another balloon, gold to this small, innocent boy.
He starts to say his thanks, but is cut off by the engine revving.
The child opens his window a crack,
Inhaling fresh air to wipe away his tears, and long forgotten sadness.
He opens it more, and more, and just like that, the child’s pride and joy is gone.
The child shuts the window, quick, and catches the floss-like string.
The child smiles.