SORE BARE FEET WITH YELLOW TAIL        
From the 2nd diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.          
          
Its been almost two weeks now, since our unforgettable funny night of the colourful fruit falling down on us. So, I decided to take Smoochy for a walk through our village and then up and over the town's nearby grassy green hills.          
           
When all of a sudden, I noticed a strange, gigantic and really colourful object in the near distance. I picked up Smoochy and put him in my top left-hand side pocket. I then took off my thongs and raced like the wind, towards this strange, gigantic and really colourful thing.          
           
As we got closer, I realised what I had come across. It was a gigantic and colourful, hot air balloon. Maybe, it had crashed on top of our town's grassy green hills, that very morning. I yelled out, ‘Hello is anyone in there’? But, not a squeak or holler of noise, came out of that gigantic and really colourful hot air balloon.          
           
I was curious to have a closer look inside, so I took Smoochy out of my top left-hand side pocket and put him nearby. I climbed up into the hot air balloon with bare feet and all, to see what it was like, inside my incredible find.          
           
Whilst looking straight up towards the blue sky, I saw the hot air balloons large engine, that once it was switched on, would make a huge fire. A fire which you could imagine, would make you ever so warm. All of sudden, a gush of wind took hold of the gigantic hot air balloon and it started to take off.          
           
I yelled out to Smoochy to help me, but quickly realised, he was only a grouse, new, pet mouse and would not understand me. The balloon started to bounce down the hill and was nearing the edge. Smoochy had jumped onto the end of a dangling rope and was hanging on by the skin of his teeth, while I was hanging on, for my dear young life.          
           
I screamed out to Smoochy, ‘Start climbing up the rope and don’t be scared’. Finally, Smoochy made it into the balloons basket and popped straight into my top, left-hand side pocket where he felt safe, once again. So, maybe Smoochy does understand me after all. The hot air balloon was getting higher and higher and further away from my home, heading towards the famous Bearfeet Ridge mountain tops.          
           
Ouch Ouch Ouch, I yelled out to Smoochy for help, again, again and again. Because, when I was running in bare feet, towards the strange, gigantic and really colourful object, I stepped on some prickles and it didn't at all, feel like funny feet tickles. I carefully pulled them out, one by one; all those pointy, painful prickles that were making my bare feet sore.          
           
I had an idea to get us off this fast moving hot air balloon. I pulled out my very super, sporty, single-shot, stylish slingshot from my back pocket and put one of those pointy, painful prickles into place on the slingshot that had been stuck in my feet.          
           
Bang, my first shot made a hole in the balloon and it started to drop down slowly over the treetops. But then, with an almighty, Thump, it stopped with a jolt and came to a complete and sudden halt.          
           
The dangling rope Smoochy had used to climb in with me, had tangled around a tree branch. It had miraculously landed, the hot air balloon right on top, although, on a very steep angle. I stood up and wiped the sweat off my brow and thought, ‘Wow, what a fun ride'.          
           
I climbed over the edge and onto a large limb and started to climb down carefully, branch by branch. Then, I heard very loud moans and growls coming from way down below. As I looked down, I felt excited and very lucky, but at the same time, I felt very nervous deep down inside.          
           
Smoochy, had peaked his head out and started to tremble, for what we were seeing had to be, that 'mysterious and rarely seen, yellow tailed, bear family'. Which a few older towns' people, have claimed to have seen.          
           
But the bears were looking, oh so very hungry, patient and keen. Then from afar, I heard people yelling out, 'Don’t move Stewy, stay where you are, for we’re almost there'.          
           
It was my Dad Archie and Sergeant Bill Stilrite from our local police station. Luckily, Dad had seen Smoochy and I, with his trusty homemade, fancy, far out, funny binoculars through the small, round shaped, backdoor window of his unusually built and outrageously painted, outback, backyard shed.          
           
He couldn't believe it, when I jumped into the balloon and it started to move. So, he had raced to his car and yelled out to my Mum Flo, ‘Call the local police now, on 000 and don't be slow’. Then my Dad started following us by car, from well down below.          
           
The police Sergeant Bill Stilrite along with my Dad, had both managed to follow us, in their very fast cars, right up until we came to a complete and sudden halt. The screaming of my Dad and Sergeant Bill Stilrite, had scared off the mysterious and rarely seen yellow tailed, bear family, making them all bolt.          
           
Now, safely back home and with an amazing, gigantic and really colourful hot air balloon tale to tell. I just don't know if my family and folks, will ever really believe that Smoochy and I saw the mysterious and rarely seen, yellow tailed, bear family, oh well.          
           
At least Smoochy was there and knows our adventures were fun and for real. Hopefully one day, I will write some books, about my childhood fun adventures and then, just maybe, try to sell them, for a buck or two.

THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated *******," here they put ***** into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?"
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number.
  
Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all.
  
Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes.
The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.

Red balloon: Amanda Mustang

Amanda Mustang : yes red balloon

Rb: are you left handed ?

Am: I don’t think so red balloon

Rb: why not ?

Am: why not why red balloon ?

Rb: well, how come your not sure ?

Am: well I only use my right hand mostly

Rb: but you do use your left one too

Am: yes, but not as much

Rb: then I declare that you  
Amanda Mustang is both left and right handed

Am: ambidextrous red balloon

Rb: ambiwhich ? Amanda Mustang

Am: ambidextrous means using both your left and right hands

Rb: then you are ambidextrous Amanda Mustang

Am: not really red balloon, both hands must be as good as each other

Rb then I will ask each hand Amanda Mustang

Am: don’t be silly red balloon.
for hands and feet and ears cannot speak, they simply are not alive

Rb: but you are alive Amanda Mustang, you began talking the day I imagined you.The other balloons say that you are not real, but I know you exist. Maybe from your point of view I’m made up and the other Amanda Mustangs would say “stop talking to that balloon Amanda Mustang, for balloons and teddy’s and cats cannot speak and balloons and teddy’s and cats are not real”

AM: I’m sorry red balloon

Rb: why so Amanda Mustang ?

Am: well for doubting your existence and I apologize to you too both left and right hands

L and R H: That’s okay Amanda Mustang, we forgive you

It's a balloon,
flies
  high up

the sky is it's limit
the wind
          it's friend

It keeps going
                          h i g h e r

It's so
pretty
                              up there

there's something
sharp
it's beautiful

the balloon
it
moves
d
o
w
n

the wind
it tells the balloon to
s t o p

but the balloon tells the wind to
s t o p

it wants to
see
to
know

the wind stops

the balloon goes down
it's sharp
green leaves,
sharp
they circle the brown
sharp
thorns

it's beautiful

the balloon
feels a push
it's too near

it begs the wind
"******* away,"
the wind is
                     silent

The balloon can't stop
f
a
  l
   l
     i
       n
          g

there's a sound
it
* p  o  p  s

The little girl clutched her balloon tightly
Careful not to let it go.
She loved it and wanted it to stay with her
Forever.
Alas, she clutched too tightly,
The balloon flew up to the ceiling of the room.
Horrified, she looked. Determined, she climbed
One height to another, to get her balloon.
Stretching her tiny hands out, she reached the string.
And just when she had it, she fell.
From height to floor she fell
Hurting her fragile frame.
The balloon in her hand, she braved the fall.
And just when she smiled
The sweet smile of success
Her balloon burst.
Her face fell.
The child grew up.

~Moniba.

depression is often compared to falling down an endless hole.
but
it’s actually more like a hot air balloon,
launched by those who tell you to change.
change your looks, your personality
be yourself, they say
not like that, they say
you let them launch your balloon
believing they’re trying to help you fit in
and you watch them grow smaller
as you slowly rise into the atmosphere
until the oxygen grows as thin
as the strings holding together your sanity
and you panic and scratch at the balloon
trying to poke a hole, thinking only about descent,
and your fingertips begin to bleed
and your wrists are cut on the harsh nylon ropes
and you collect scars because you can’t collect your thoughts
and all you want to do is fall
so you jump
and as you’re falling, you feel good.
you feel free.
but as you plummet towards earth and you can see the ground you begin to regret and spread your arms, desperately flapping but it’s too
late
and you hit the floor with a sickening,
bone shattering
crunch
then you float back up to the sky that ended you
and you see
your family
friends
teachers, everybody who’s ever loved you and maybe even hated you feel the ripples of force as you hit the ground
and they scream and rush to your side
trying to help
trying to do what they tell themselves they would have done
if only they had known, if only you had told them
but you felt silly and invalidated and you didn’t want anybody to see
and you didn’t think they would have saved you
so you kept it in and stayed in your balloon until it was too much
the oxygen was running out
with your will to live
but those who are alive cry
tears falling as quickly as you did from the sky
hitting the ground with splashes nowhere near as loud as the crash
that cut your life short
running their fingers over the scars that you hid
the pain that you endured up there in the atmosphere, hidden among long sleeves and fluffy white clouds and fake smiles
and they wonder why they allowed
you to go up in the balloon in the first place
and they begin to blame
not each other, but themselves
and some launch balloons of their own
telling themselves that they’re just grieving,
just wanting to see what you did in your final moments
but their balloons spiral out of control and
they find themselves falling
just as you did

How nice to be a balloon
floating on a young ones wrist
How I'd like to be a balloon.  

They float for some time, and then happily deflate
leaving there rubbery reminisce
For the young one to toy with
And stretch to it's limit
Or they might keep the balloon close
like some long lost friend

Unless, you're the sad balloon
who's string is dropped
and floats way up high
away from the happiness
away from the child
well
away from the tears of the young ones loss
who wishes only for the balloon
who's already lost.

I know that when I am older, I will no longer be able to throw the harsh truth of reality at ones such as my grandchildren.

Too them, I will live till I’m 105. Standing as the essence of immortality that they strive to experience. This of course is a lie. But, I can longer take it upon myself to destroy the dreams and quash the creativity of the young in a world of Grey.  

Walk with me through this verdant street I am going to tell you a story about a strange place...

In this strange place, instead of colour splashing itself against any and every object there only seems to be shades of grey. And in this Grey world, each generation of children receives a red balloon. The red balloon constantly engages the youth with its seemingly magical properties of levitation. But this engagement can only last for so long. Eventually the floating ball of rosa can no longer captivate and mystify. At the crucial point of demystification, the children are deemed “ready” to face the world.

So the children do the only thing left to do to join the rest of society…they let go of that slight bit of that small, rose-colored rubber which, with the help of the wind and its abundant hydrogen molecules floats off to meet the sky.

I am proud to present to you, the saddest moment our society has to offer. The loss of the inner child to the vast machine of the demiurge.

****** of the greatest caliber carried out in the name of growing up and becoming part of "real" world.

But hey,
on the bright-side, the sky gets to play with a balloon

for a few minutes before it throws it back, without magic, without life, and without its marveling child.

So, I beseech you, the reader to forever hold onto that red balloon. Hold on till your knuckles turn white because it’s that tiny, 3 cent, red balloon is the most special item in this infectious process we call Human Society.