A short story, reflecting on the inevitable nature of life and cynacism.

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A bright red hot-air balloon lazily drifted in the distance, floating on the thick dusk air with the splendour of a storm cloud. I envisaged the romance on board: a velvet love scene with champagne and strawberry-smeared clasped hands. Tonight was the night. I could feel it, that trembling in my spine that threatened to surge up and overflow with a tingling excitement, if I only let go of my civilised composure.

I stepped lightly down the cool street, illuminating the greyness of another evening with my simmering fireworks, that hissed and popped in my stomach with anticipation. A smile broke out without warning, to many strange looks from the grim passers-by. What had I to be so happy about? I could almost hear the cynacism rumbling from the depths of their hopelessness. Half guilty, half smug, I pressed my lips together into a more subtle expression of superior knowledge.

A light breeze ruffled my hair, blowing a few stray strands across my face. As I brushed them aside, a shiny coin caught my eye, radiating copper brilliance from the pavement. I swooped down on the delicious find, elated. It was a sign, without even a hint of a shadow of doubt. I closed my fingers tightly around it, so that sharp nails pressed into my palm. A brand new penny, to mark a brand new era for my life to enter. My feet floated towards the Co-op as I recalled the traditional rhyme:

“see a penny, pick it up:

all day long you’ll have good luck.”

Then there was the modern addition:

“Give it to a friend;

your luck will never end.”

 

I glanced around at the shuffling people staring at their shoes. One foot, another foot, one foot, another…It was too late for them: they had been swallowed by the flat tunnel that yawned ahead of them, and even a bright penny from a stranger would not revive them. I clung to it, selfishly. I needed it; this was my key to fate. Besides, it was headed for my scrapbook when I got home, to remind me forever of the time I was penniless, but for one beacon of hope snatched from the gutter.

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Comments (7)
  • Evelyn Moore on Apr 11, 2009

    Some nice descriptions in here – good piece

  • kate smedley on Apr 11, 2009

    Beautiful style of writing, very good story.

  • Bob Craypoe on Apr 11, 2009

    This reminds me of one day on my way to work. I used to work near an airport where hot air balloons would take off and land. I was so preoccupied by the balloons overhead that I missed my exit. I had to turn around at the next exit. I was almost late for work. Luckily, no one was harmed by me racing to make up for lost time. Maybe it was my lucky penny that saved me while I was on my way to make a buck.

  • ShaFar on Apr 12, 2009

    You are a great writer!! Glad to have met you. This was a beautiful story.

  • Elizabeth Abbott on Apr 16, 2009

    How moving! I can nearly feel the heat of the flames. Very melancholy. Once again, so inspiring. Thank You.

  • Peter Cimino on May 8, 2009

    Very moving and inspirational. Nicely written and enjoyable to read.

  • jamesII on Jun 13, 2009

    I think you hit the Goddery, too! I just noticed this lovely piece! It is great writing! unbelieveable writing! I enjoyed reading every single word of it. You did not tell me that you could write swell fiction–such as this! It you have a true handle on the style you display here–I see a bright writing career in front of you! This was super! I needed something like this to help me feel better. I am pleased to know that you understand our effort is only half the equation! I hope you did well with grade and good luck in the coming future! Cool!

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