All Things Being Equal

The CEO pulled in over three-hundred thousand dollars a year. He ruled over a company of peons two-hundred-and-fifty souls strong, owned two spacious homes, captained his own yacht on the weekends, and had recently dined with a world leader of no small repute. He was a mover and a shaker, a rags-to-riches story worthy of committing even the savviest financial advisor to a blush. The bird shit upon the CEO's tailored suit anyway, unimpressed.

One Yellow Balloon

When the little girl released the balloon its heart sank as its latex body soared into the air. It saw her surprised, tear-filled eyes for only a moment before it rose above the tree line, above the roof of the deli where the little girl had been eating lunch, above webs of radio antennae and cellular towers, above the flight of birds and the tips of kites, above, above, above. The town below appeared first as a spill of building blocks, then as a simple, brown-and-white blob, nestled in a sea of verdant, mottled green. The gentle gradation of the sky welcomed the balloon, pulling it from blue to white to black. It was a simple spot of yellow against the swirl of the universe, and it ascended to whatever heaven awaited lost souls.

The Flea

The flea did not like April. It held no great appreciation for the blossoming of Spring, and warmth and greenery brought no joy to its bedroom-dwelling life. It brooded, instead, over the relative filth of its meals, annoyed that the blood of its host curdled and soured on April 1st every year. Emotion was a potent tang, and stress did not appeal to the flea at all. Snugged in a blanket of matted hair, staring moodily at the heap of paperwork laying next to the bed, only dimly aware that it should never have lived long enough to know so much, the flea waited for tax season to end.