Not having owned a balloon for quite some time, I'd not realized how ephemeral they are. That night, his tongue (having shrunk more, possibly because it was a different color) dropped like the first leaf of fall. By the time we had made our way back to the Plantation, the first visible signs of decrepitude had crept in around the edges. Wilting, sagging, wrinkling... he was not exactly talented at the sitting thing before, but now he said he much preferred lying on one side, thank you.
And it was now, of course, that I thought "I should get a picture so that everybody can see how cool he looks!" And about five seconds later I felt foolish. I considered getting a picture now, but he wanted to be remembered as he was, not preserved forever the way he is. And it would be even better for the folks who hadn't seen him, because they'd imagine him bigger, plumper, with a series of balloon supports that mimicked muscular structure. Racing down the convention hallways, vaulting over Yu Gi Oh players, stealing Bento boxes... He paused a moment for breath, the darker brown skin lightening briefly as he inhaled.
Yes, he thought that would be the best way to be remembered.
This entry was originally posted at http://cyrano.dreamwidth.org/1166723.htm