Balloon Swords

Originally published in Mudluscious

They met in a park as children. It was late afternoon. His balloon sword was green, hers red. They stood opposing each other in the center of the grassy park. He charged, thrusting at her heart. She held her red balloon sword by its handle and waved it back and forth in front of her face, trying to defend herself. But using the sun behind him to his advantage, he ducked, blinding her momentarily, and his green sword struck home. Still holding her sword in one hand, she fell backward onto the grass and closed her eyes, resting her free palm on her chest and playing dead.

Years later, each time the battle was replayed without balloons, he would recall the dry heat of that summer afternoon in the park when they were still children. He recollected the chiming of a passing ice cream truck. He remembered the flitting shadow of a bird shading her pale face. And he would wonder, again and again -- how different things might have been if he hadn’t discarded his green balloon sword to drop onto his knees and see if her heart had really been pierced.