Other stories for this prompt

There was a party in the upstairs of the building. On the roof. It was my building too. I had lived there for many years. Paying rent, not having a pet (not allowed), putting up with all the noise and rubbish in the hallways and out. There was a lot of nastiness, to be sure, but it was my home. Come to find out, its the building's owners giving the party. A corporate landlord business that aims to put themselves first and the people trying to live in their wasted spaces last. The party was buzzing, I could hear the...

She hadn't felt like this since she was six years old. Once, at a circus, she had begged her father for a balloon, swearing that she would take the best care of it . She realized now that his protests weren't cruel-hearted, but frugal. That he didn't have the money. That when he begrudgingly gave in, it meant that the family would have to go without that week, so that she could feel the joy of holding that light, floating orb above her head by a string, feeling the gentle tug upwards that whispered of something more magical, more ethereal...

The power of flight could be transferred.

When Marisa first discovered this, she was thrilled. As far as she knew, other 'birds' could only fly themselves, the envy of other humans. Being part of the elite wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Envy was a problem. Bitterness led to hate led to violence.

Her mother had told her to hide her abilities, that others would fear and resent her. But this new ability changed everything; didn't it? Instead of hating her, she could grant that power to others. What wouldn't those stranded on the land give to be...

Some days you feel every second of your age. Becca looked at the balloons in her hand and back towards the building. Seven years hard labor, or so it felt, and she was still working in the same department in the same job for the same company.
A breeze lifted her hair and tugged at the balloons. They struggled against her grip, the ribbons seesawing in her hand as if each wished for freedom.
"What are you doing, Becca?" The voice reached out to her but the woman stared up at the floating orbs. The sun glowed through them and...

"Let's go!" She ran down the lane next to her apartment building holding a green balloon in one hand, high above her head. She grabbed my hand in her free one and dragged me after her. I ran to keep up with her and smiled. Always full of surprises.
"Where are we going?" She threw back her head and laughed. I loved that laugh; it was sunshine mixed with love and a smile. Looking over her shoulder at me, her dark hair blew around her tanned face. Her smile lit up her eyes and made her come alive. It also...

It had been a long morning. The shouting and screaming had been relentless, as it always is with three children under six. She had spent the hours trying to patch up arguments, mollify sulkers, and generally bring a sense of cheer. Even the thought of their friend's birthday party had not raised a smile at one point. She felt like she was near the point of giving up completely.

The twins eventually seemed to decide that if they got ready they may enjoy the upcoming festivities. By quarter to twelve they were dressed in their finest party outfits and starting...

Her youth was long past gone, as emily stared out of her nursing home. Her distant family no longer visited, her friends had slowly drifted from her memories and living years as her mind and body waned towards the final chapter of her life.

Living was no longer an adventure, but a dull existence of being. Happiness and love existed only in her fading memory. She stared across the grey sky and saw a lone drifting green balloon floating slowly towards the endless sky. She felt a connection to the escaping balloon, she sighed and wished her last wish as...

I was on too many fucking drug to put up with this bullshit hipster girl with a balloon full of who the fuck even knows. Fuck that. I knew that I was signing up for a quirky-ass time but I didn't realize that that meant chasing someone through alleys full of rapists and foreigners and then what. My prize would probably be equally quirky, like ten gallons of Sunny D or an Altoid tin full of minty condoms. At this point I didn't care about the prize. I just wanted the game to end.
I'd been dragged into this by...

The idea is to create a false memory. Get a pretty model, blur the edges, overexpose the film. You can also create that overexposure effect digitally. Have her smiling, playing. Give her something that evokes childhood. Red balloon. No, we don't want to be cliche. Green balloon. And make sure there's an overriding color scheme. Green. We don't see a background - nothing but light on the horizon. This is memory, and memory is supposed to consist of overreliance on symbols, strong images, single focal points. That was the summer when...

We hire the model. She's angry and unhappy the...

Marilyn's breath felt thick, like syrup in her throat and coating her tongue, she'd run so far already, and she didn't care that she could barely breathe as a result of it. The alley was empty, the pavement clattering hollowly under her soft sandals, and the sweat coating her palm loosened at the string of the balloon she held until it slipped and ascended, quickly snagging against a fire escape and popping.

Marilyn laughed, stopped running and stared up at the remainings of the balloon, the silver string winking in a dart of sunlight, the torn rubber fragments dangling from...