He’d been out of training for so long, each inch of hard earned definition had become soft and round; from behind, his buttocks rose up like two drifting hot air balloons. He didn’t dare to glance over his shoulder in case the travesty of slumped perfection that was his figure was far more dilapidated than he had imagined.
As he shuffled along the street, conscious of each scrape of his thighs against each other, he noticed a figure hunched on a bench, the size and stature of an exhausted ox. As he watched the guy unwrap a double sized burger awash with mayonnaise, he suspected he had never had fitness to lose. He took a step closer, as the burger wrapper was quickly disposed of, and imagined himself saying the words. Any words. Like, how would you like to spend the rest of your harshly shortened life getting strong. He paused and took a step back as the man suddenly looked up and met his gaze.
happy, fun, colourful. balloons are the ones that float in the sky, up above the clouds and the trees far far away. the balloons have no limit to reach but just keep sailing higher and higher into the sky. eventually you can’t even see the balloons, but you know they are there. they are bright and loud.
I see them float away, and then drift towards the glistening face of the rough, course sea water. It hadn’t occurred to me why I was looking at them. How I noticed them. A speck in the sky. Oh wait, they’re coloured birds. My eyes hurt from staring so long. I shut them, the searing pain creeping away through the cracks of my sore eyelids.
loons, loons, and loonatics thats what I see around me, no imagination, creativity, only copy the older, reduntant, cheeting cats that are now fat cats, living it up at our expense.
I deflate like helium-filled balloons when you are near. It’s as if you stuck a small pin into my confidence and I start to slowly drift down, losing all courage to speak to you. I turned from the yellow balloon of delight to the somber blue.
ballons are amazing, as a child i was fascinated with balloons as a child is, they were a huge enjoyment and when my parents purchase a pack for my birthday party i was estatic, the only problem was i couldn’t blow up a balloon until someone showed me how by pulling on the mouth piece to strech it
It’s my girlfriend’s birthday on sunday. At my school we can get balloons for people on their birthdays so I think I might just get her an obscene amount of balloons. She hates balloons, but its the thought that counts right?
up up higher flyer then never seen before stand in aww and galore and my skills and tricks tip and flip like a balloon lit open the room iI take another breath and grow in size and altitude
Spotting something in the distance, she clambered to her feet and darted forward, staring hard at the cluster of bright colors. Balloons, she realized. They were balloons, tied to the top of a telephone box. Most had popped, broken, empty, a sad sight, but not to her. The thought meant so much more at the moment. She broke into a run, boots slipping over rocks, a grin splitting her face. He was here. She reached their meeting place moments later, practically slamming into the blue booth. Scrambling with the small, latched handle, she shoved the door open and, with the anticipation of a child at Christmastime, bounded inside.
“Doctor!”
Grasped in the hands of my children, floating along, the balloons and their glowing faces bobbing in sync. Light and happy and bright, they bring a smile to my face.
As I floated further from this plane of existence I noticed I felt nothing and wondered if I ever did. I wondered if the chemicals inside me ever reacted abruptly because I had a separate will or if some pre-existing rule had navigated there course causing me to feel the human experience.
In kindergarten, Santa came into our classroom to ask us all what we wanted for Christmas. It was the only time in my life that I got to put in a request with Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick. I asked for bags of balloons. Tons and tons of bags of balloons. No air needed; I wanted to blow them up myself. Well, I never got any. And that was 29 Christmases ago. I’m starting to think he might not be real.
Ballons, red, blue, yellow and green. They were a rainbow of colors filling the sky on her birthday . Hundreds and hundreds, in honor on her, one year ago.
She clutched the threads tightly between her fingers. Red, orange, yellow, blue. They bubbled above her, bumping into each other and stumbling in the wind. They tugged at her fingers, striving to reach the sun but only reflecting it upon her face. The colors. Red, orange, yellow, blue floated across her skin and onto the pavement.
You hate the sight of balloons. You can’t stand the colors, the brightness, the hues, the sheer amount of happy memories that get associated with the latex monsters. You remember the bad times, and how you lost him to a terrible thing—a disease that withered his mind into nothing.
balloons hold up the anchor that’s dragging me down by my ankle the hole me up in the sky refusing to let me sink. the just refuse they promised the would never pop and they will live on forever.
Balloons are the cute shaped like balls that float in the air. These are used in birthday parties so kids will enjoy watching them float in the sky. They vary in colors. In burials, black balloons are used to symbolize sympathy for the loss of the dead.
awkward is the only to describe the feeling of your finger as it graces the rubbery skin of the cherry red balloon between your fingers. Sticky with watermelon, oily with sweat, it catches on the fine grooves in your fingers that tell the story of who you are.
its funny how we try to watch
the balloons float
up up
and away
until they are but a speck in the sky
but we can’t pin point the
exact moment in which
a pin point became invisible to us
so we stare a little too long
just to be sure it’s gone from
our sight
Ellis smiled proud-like when he found the first balloon from the apocalypse. Nick glared at him as if he were a kid in a candy store.
“Why the hell are we stopping for this kind of thing?” the gambler asked, fed up with the younger man’s child-like behavior.
“Aww, come on, NIck! This is the first balloon I’ve seen since the apocalypse happened!” the mechanic eagerly says, a wide smile on his face.
Children watched in awe as the brightly colored balloons floated up toward the sky. They didn’t even think how bad it was for the environment, just that it was absolutely beautiful. It was like something from one of their books or from one of their movies as colors of blue, green, red, orange, purple, pink, and so on floated higher and higher towards the sun.
air colorful kids love the balloons and its for parties, special occassions anywhere ballons are everywhere. it is synonymous with kids and happiness and it gives you a weird voice.
Balloons. Balloons of every colour- red, blue, green, orange – floated up into the azure sky. Floating on the gentle west wind, they drifted to places unknown. Far below, the hundreds of tiny people held their hands up to their eyes, shielding them from the blinding sun. Wishes flew with the balloons. Wishes of children, of adults, of those happy and of those sad.
every single balloon was pink and i absolutely hated it. what about green and blue and red and purple and white and black and orange and yellow? didn’t they get a chance? but no, because I am a girl and girls have pink balloons at their birthday parties even when they are sixteen years old. and all the boys will look at all the pink and think they’re at a baby shower. so thanks. a little variation wouldn’t have killed you.
she was lost. the stormy sky closed in, and she knew that it was the end. What would it be like, she had always wondered, to be swallowed by that darkness? She was about to find out…until. A yellow balloon. Adrift above the raging sea. A spot of hope…like a light in a pitch black night. It floated down to her, and she reached out her hand to grab it’s fragile string…she would survive after all.
People are balloons.
Self centered people are fat balloons full of nothing
Dramatic people inflate and deflate rapidly as their moods change
People in love inflate to a tremendous size and float away into the sky
Angry and jealous people blow up and pop with loud bangs
Sad people are limp balloons hanging from tree branches
Hyper people zip around the room making lots of noise and spraying everyone with spit
And when you put a whole bunch of blown up balloon-people in a room together, they create so much static electricity and excitement that the room will explode…
and confetti will rain down.
be happy, people. Float away into the sky and never return.
He’d been out of training for so long, each inch of hard earned definition had become soft and round; from behind, his buttocks rose up like two drifting hot air balloons. He didn’t dare to glance over his shoulder in case the travesty of slumped perfection that was his figure was far more dilapidated than he had imagined.
As he shuffled along the street, conscious of each scrape of his thighs against each other, he noticed a figure hunched on a bench, the size and stature of an exhausted ox. As he watched the guy unwrap a double sized burger awash with mayonnaise, he suspected he had never had fitness to lose. He took a step closer, as the burger wrapper was quickly disposed of, and imagined himself saying the words. Any words. Like, how would you like to spend the rest of your harshly shortened life getting strong. He paused and took a step back as the man suddenly looked up and met his gaze.
happy, fun, colourful. balloons are the ones that float in the sky, up above the clouds and the trees far far away. the balloons have no limit to reach but just keep sailing higher and higher into the sky. eventually you can’t even see the balloons, but you know they are there. they are bright and loud.
I see them float away, and then drift towards the glistening face of the rough, course sea water. It hadn’t occurred to me why I was looking at them. How I noticed them. A speck in the sky. Oh wait, they’re coloured birds. My eyes hurt from staring so long. I shut them, the searing pain creeping away through the cracks of my sore eyelids.
round
rubbery feel to it
colourful
boom!
burst
many
floating
thin
purple
airy
fly
squeaky sound
voice distortions
smooth
loons, loons, and loonatics thats what I see around me, no imagination, creativity, only copy the older, reduntant, cheeting cats that are now fat cats, living it up at our expense.
abysmal
salient
decamp
philanthropist
exotic
incapacitate
congregation
I deflate like helium-filled balloons when you are near. It’s as if you stuck a small pin into my confidence and I start to slowly drift down, losing all courage to speak to you. I turned from the yellow balloon of delight to the somber blue.
ballons are amazing, as a child i was fascinated with balloons as a child is, they were a huge enjoyment and when my parents purchase a pack for my birthday party i was estatic, the only problem was i couldn’t blow up a balloon until someone showed me how by pulling on the mouth piece to strech it
happy birthday, celebrate, pop, cry, shapes and colours, helium, funny voices, floating up into the clouds, smiles, shiny objects, tiny ufo’s,
oh gosh I find this word to be terribly ironic seeing how I held two balloons around all day at school.
When I was a little kid I used to be fascinated with balloons. I often dreamt that there was a place where all the lost balloons would go.
Even though I find balloons to be annoying, they are amazing items that can bring joy.
It’s my girlfriend’s birthday on sunday. At my school we can get balloons for people on their birthdays so I think I might just get her an obscene amount of balloons. She hates balloons, but its the thought that counts right?
up up higher flyer then never seen before stand in aww and galore and my skills and tricks tip and flip like a balloon lit open the room iI take another breath and grow in size and altitude
Spotting something in the distance, she clambered to her feet and darted forward, staring hard at the cluster of bright colors. Balloons, she realized. They were balloons, tied to the top of a telephone box. Most had popped, broken, empty, a sad sight, but not to her. The thought meant so much more at the moment. She broke into a run, boots slipping over rocks, a grin splitting her face. He was here. She reached their meeting place moments later, practically slamming into the blue booth. Scrambling with the small, latched handle, she shoved the door open and, with the anticipation of a child at Christmastime, bounded inside.
“Doctor!”
round, soft, light, erotic, colourful, boobs! mushy
Grasped in the hands of my children, floating along, the balloons and their glowing faces bobbing in sync. Light and happy and bright, they bring a smile to my face.
As I floated further from this plane of existence I noticed I felt nothing and wondered if I ever did. I wondered if the chemicals inside me ever reacted abruptly because I had a separate will or if some pre-existing rule had navigated there course causing me to feel the human experience.
The black balloon popped,
raining sickly stickly tarry globs
coating and choking the corollas
of the the lilies at our feet.
In kindergarten, Santa came into our classroom to ask us all what we wanted for Christmas. It was the only time in my life that I got to put in a request with Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick. I asked for bags of balloons. Tons and tons of bags of balloons. No air needed; I wanted to blow them up myself. Well, I never got any. And that was 29 Christmases ago. I’m starting to think he might not be real.
Red yellow blue light as a balloons birthday parties circuses clown hope clouds pop helium
Ballons, red, blue, yellow and green. They were a rainbow of colors filling the sky on her birthday . Hundreds and hundreds, in honor on her, one year ago.
She clutched the threads tightly between her fingers. Red, orange, yellow, blue. They bubbled above her, bumping into each other and stumbling in the wind. They tugged at her fingers, striving to reach the sun but only reflecting it upon her face. The colors. Red, orange, yellow, blue floated across her skin and onto the pavement.
I let you go, up into the sky you went higher almost to the sun,
To high, too close too sun my red balloon went…
balloons are the things that keep me afloat in this mad sea of people that we call earth
You hate the sight of balloons. You can’t stand the colors, the brightness, the hues, the sheer amount of happy memories that get associated with the latex monsters. You remember the bad times, and how you lost him to a terrible thing—a disease that withered his mind into nothing.
balloons hold up the anchor that’s dragging me down by my ankle the hole me up in the sky refusing to let me sink. the just refuse they promised the would never pop and they will live on forever.
Balloons are the cute shaped like balls that float in the air. These are used in birthday parties so kids will enjoy watching them float in the sky. They vary in colors. In burials, black balloons are used to symbolize sympathy for the loss of the dead.
awkward is the only to describe the feeling of your finger as it graces the rubbery skin of the cherry red balloon between your fingers. Sticky with watermelon, oily with sweat, it catches on the fine grooves in your fingers that tell the story of who you are.
These are used by kids and during celebrations. They are light and colourful. There was a ballon in her hands when she entered the cafe.
its funny how we try to watch
the balloons float
up up
and away
until they are but a speck in the sky
but we can’t pin point the
exact moment in which
a pin point became invisible to us
so we stare a little too long
just to be sure it’s gone from
our sight
Ellis smiled proud-like when he found the first balloon from the apocalypse. Nick glared at him as if he were a kid in a candy store.
“Why the hell are we stopping for this kind of thing?” the gambler asked, fed up with the younger man’s child-like behavior.
“Aww, come on, NIck! This is the first balloon I’ve seen since the apocalypse happened!” the mechanic eagerly says, a wide smile on his face.
I hate balloons. They may be colorful but the noise they make when they, pop is scary to me. Balloons are used for parties to make things festive.
Balloons are lots of fantastical colors. Use them for celebration. Fascinate about the invention. Use your breath to inflate to optimum size.
Children watched in awe as the brightly colored balloons floated up toward the sky. They didn’t even think how bad it was for the environment, just that it was absolutely beautiful. It was like something from one of their books or from one of their movies as colors of blue, green, red, orange, purple, pink, and so on floated higher and higher towards the sun.
air colorful kids love the balloons and its for parties, special occassions anywhere ballons are everywhere. it is synonymous with kids and happiness and it gives you a weird voice.
Balloons. Balloons of every colour- red, blue, green, orange – floated up into the azure sky. Floating on the gentle west wind, they drifted to places unknown. Far below, the hundreds of tiny people held their hands up to their eyes, shielding them from the blinding sun. Wishes flew with the balloons. Wishes of children, of adults, of those happy and of those sad.
round, oval, blue, green, yellow, red, string, air, float, helium, grass, pop, party, children, squeaky voice,
“Balloons?” he looked at her, quizzically. “99 red balloons?”
“It’s a great song.” She snuggled into his embrace. “And I’d really like to see them.”
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s probably going to be an eco hazard or something or the other and-”
“Then find me a different alternative.” She winked up at him. “You’re a genius after all, aren’t you?”
“Your genius.” He allowed. “I suppose.”
She grinned. “Good. We can put a little message on the them too.”
“Message?”
“Of course. Something happy…and fluffy.”
“Fluffy?”
“Shush.”
every single balloon was pink and i absolutely hated it. what about green and blue and red and purple and white and black and orange and yellow? didn’t they get a chance? but no, because I am a girl and girls have pink balloons at their birthday parties even when they are sixteen years old. and all the boys will look at all the pink and think they’re at a baby shower. so thanks. a little variation wouldn’t have killed you.
she was lost. the stormy sky closed in, and she knew that it was the end. What would it be like, she had always wondered, to be swallowed by that darkness? She was about to find out…until. A yellow balloon. Adrift above the raging sea. A spot of hope…like a light in a pitch black night. It floated down to her, and she reached out her hand to grab it’s fragile string…she would survive after all.
People are balloons.
Self centered people are fat balloons full of nothing
Dramatic people inflate and deflate rapidly as their moods change
People in love inflate to a tremendous size and float away into the sky
Angry and jealous people blow up and pop with loud bangs
Sad people are limp balloons hanging from tree branches
Hyper people zip around the room making lots of noise and spraying everyone with spit
And when you put a whole bunch of blown up balloon-people in a room together, they create so much static electricity and excitement that the room will explode…
and confetti will rain down.
be happy, people. Float away into the sky and never return.