The Hundredth Balloon
Posted: Mon Jun 15, 2015 12:03 am
If anybody has a better title idea, please share... 'cause this has got to be one of the worst titles I've come up with. 
TITLE CHANGE: The Balloon Goes Up
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It was her birthday the day before I was deployed. As far as we knew, the last we’d celebrate together. Home wasn’t in any danger of becoming a war zone, so I knew she’d be safe; but we both knew that the chances of my returning were slim. So we went all-out, just the two of us. She wore her red dress while I dressed up in my signature grey. We put together a picnic basket, complete with a raspberry jelly roll, and I bought balloons. Lots of balloons, all in her favourite colour. She had an inexplicable delight in those things. Thus armed, we headed to our special spot by the lake. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but we wouldn’t have that day cluttered with anything else.
We strolled beside the reeds, raced over the bridge, even splashed about in the lake. We talked while the sun set behind the distant downtown skyscrapers, then snuggled together under the picnic blanket to sink into silence as the stars came out. I wondered if I’d hear this silence again while I was away, this calm before the storm. I considered the likelihood of my seeing two missiles rocketing through the air side-by-side, just as two stars were just then. I even feared the effects of a cloud more terrible than the wispy one to the south, one that could obliterate downtown in a flash of red and a plume of grey smoke while its shock levelled the rest of the city…. These thoughts I kept to myself, but it seemed I needn’t have worried, for she had dozed off in my arms. I’d give anything to have that moment again.
I allowed my mind to wander till dawn crept upon us and she awoke. We did not exchange words. We just knew: our time was nearly at its end. As the sky turned from grey to red, we released the balloons, one by one like prayers sent Heaven-ward, watching till they disappeared. My gaze was still to the clear morning sky when she pressed something into my hand: a single balloon, saved, apparently, for this moment.
It is that same balloon that I have kept in my breast pocket. Through the skies, over waters, under fire, I have carried it close to my heart. It reminded me of what I was fighting for, gave me hope of returning to her after this sordid war.
But I never came home.
The quiet is killing me. The war’s destruction lies all around me: I stand in the midst of dust and rubble. Those who have not succumbed to their wounds may yet sink into their shell-shocked minds. Whatever city was here, it’s long gone. As it is, what used to be parks are now cemeteries; rubble has been repurposed into grave markers. One such park in this unfamiliar city has what must have once been a beautiful lake. It’s a little secluded, tucked away from everything. I am glad to be alone here with my memories. Memories of her and the time we had together. Her red dress and her auburn tresses. Her beautiful eyes and her sweet smile. And the ninety-nine balloons we released the morning I left.
This war is the reason I can never be home.
Supporting myself against my latest tombstone, I remove the little red balloon from my pocket. I inflate it. Close my eyes. Take a deep breath. And release it into the wind. Just before it disappears into the grey haze that is sky, I bid her farewell and leave her grave behind.
TITLE CHANGE: The Balloon Goes Up
__
It was her birthday the day before I was deployed. As far as we knew, the last we’d celebrate together. Home wasn’t in any danger of becoming a war zone, so I knew she’d be safe; but we both knew that the chances of my returning were slim. So we went all-out, just the two of us. She wore her red dress while I dressed up in my signature grey. We put together a picnic basket, complete with a raspberry jelly roll, and I bought balloons. Lots of balloons, all in her favourite colour. She had an inexplicable delight in those things. Thus armed, we headed to our special spot by the lake. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but we wouldn’t have that day cluttered with anything else.
We strolled beside the reeds, raced over the bridge, even splashed about in the lake. We talked while the sun set behind the distant downtown skyscrapers, then snuggled together under the picnic blanket to sink into silence as the stars came out. I wondered if I’d hear this silence again while I was away, this calm before the storm. I considered the likelihood of my seeing two missiles rocketing through the air side-by-side, just as two stars were just then. I even feared the effects of a cloud more terrible than the wispy one to the south, one that could obliterate downtown in a flash of red and a plume of grey smoke while its shock levelled the rest of the city…. These thoughts I kept to myself, but it seemed I needn’t have worried, for she had dozed off in my arms. I’d give anything to have that moment again.
I allowed my mind to wander till dawn crept upon us and she awoke. We did not exchange words. We just knew: our time was nearly at its end. As the sky turned from grey to red, we released the balloons, one by one like prayers sent Heaven-ward, watching till they disappeared. My gaze was still to the clear morning sky when she pressed something into my hand: a single balloon, saved, apparently, for this moment.
It is that same balloon that I have kept in my breast pocket. Through the skies, over waters, under fire, I have carried it close to my heart. It reminded me of what I was fighting for, gave me hope of returning to her after this sordid war.
But I never came home.
The quiet is killing me. The war’s destruction lies all around me: I stand in the midst of dust and rubble. Those who have not succumbed to their wounds may yet sink into their shell-shocked minds. Whatever city was here, it’s long gone. As it is, what used to be parks are now cemeteries; rubble has been repurposed into grave markers. One such park in this unfamiliar city has what must have once been a beautiful lake. It’s a little secluded, tucked away from everything. I am glad to be alone here with my memories. Memories of her and the time we had together. Her red dress and her auburn tresses. Her beautiful eyes and her sweet smile. And the ninety-nine balloons we released the morning I left.
This war is the reason I can never be home.
Supporting myself against my latest tombstone, I remove the little red balloon from my pocket. I inflate it. Close my eyes. Take a deep breath. And release it into the wind. Just before it disappears into the grey haze that is sky, I bid her farewell and leave her grave behind.
Though I do need to figure out how to get original ideas that don't end tragically....
Very well-written! 
I don't have any ideas, really. It was just the weird things my mind does hen I read things like that.