balloons and fireworks revised edition

Balloons And Fireworks

They were both young and stupid; all they wanted was the time of their lives.

Carla’s hair was black like the feathers of a raven and curled intricately and beautifully by means of an iron curler. The dress she wore for the party that night sparkled a rich hue of scarlett, and went down to her knees with matching high heels. Her brother Carlos wore a white t-shirt with jeans and scruffy old shoes. He didn’t care to look refined for that night like Carla did— it was a house party for a bunch of rowdy teens.

When they departed the house, they came upon their once-beautiful street, now strewn with shrapnel and bones of houses. Long ago the houses were charming and their lawns were well kept, but with the shells exploding everywhere with bombs here and there, the houses became crumpled, sad and dilapidated.

The houses that Carla used to know flashed back into her mind’s eye. The houses looked like fairy cottages, with beautiful big flowers in the front. Some hung on pots, some were in the grass of the lawns. There were many that hung off the windowsill. Sunflowers smiled upon those who passed by like little golden suns. Purple, white, blue and pink lilacs filled the air with their sweet smell. The grass was soft to the touch and the dew that formed on them every morning would feel so fresh and cool on Carla’s skin when she lay on the grass and watched as the sun would rise, releasing colours of red, purple and pink in the sky with the clouds floating about their business as they were carried by the wind, barely noticing Carla.

Alma’s house was to her right and she stopped. The grass was dead and yellow and a hole was blown through the roof.
“Hey Alma, it’s me, Carla,” her thin, brown fist tapped lightly on the door in morse code. No response.
How many feet below Earth and into the Inferno did her heart drop? What if Alma was used to fill the growling gap that people called their stomach? Was she sick? Medicine was a rare commodity as far as Carla was concerned.

Two birds sat in a tree, which was a rare sight to see. Count by twos until her hand would stop shaking. Two, four, six, eight, ten. Carlos was waiting and tried to hide back a scowl by pressing his lips together. Twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen. The smell of charcoal and sewage filled Carla’s lungs as she tried to steady herself. Twenty, twenty-two, twenty-four, twenty-six. The birds were chirping and lamenting to each other about the trees and food going up in flames. How the flowers don’t bloom anymore.

Carla’s hand was now still and calm like the sea with a light breeze. She knocked on Alma’s door, “the party. You’re still coming, right?”

Alma swung open the door and her blonde hair, which was in a cloud of waves, flew as it caught the wind of the door. Her blue eyes never lost their spark and stars, even with the lack of food and lack of fun. She still held herself strong even if there were explosions combusting left, right and center. A blue dress to match her eyes hugged her almost childlike figure.

Her sleeved arms wrapped around Carla, almost knocking her over. “Hey easy, Chica. I’m in heels.”

“Sister, why? If you're dying tonight, then you can blame your high heels for making you not run."
"Style over comfort. At least I'm going to die looking like a hottie."

Carlos checked the paper card and looked at the house when they walked a few more blocks down. “Well, this is the place.”

Carla swung open the door to find that the darkness hollowed out the house with only the red, green, yellow, blue and purple disco lights to illuminate the dance floor and halls. Teens danced about, laughed, drank, gossiped and did all the things that would make her mom scream.

She took off her heels and danced barefoot with Alma. The music vibrated in the ground and filled her ears so that she forgot all about the suffering and misery that was in the real world.

After some time, Carla sat on one of the couches and rubbed her sore feet.

Carlos flashed a red light to Carla. He sat on the staircase that led to the roof, the shadows cast over him.
Carla pulled on her heels and clunked up the stairs with the pouch of balloons in her purse.
The stars shone brightly in the sky that night. The moon illuminated the little town, not taking notice of the hunger, the sickness and the wreckage in the little townspeople's lives.

“Firehose said that he would have a helium pump for our balloons, right?” asked Carlos.
Carla responded, “it’s right here.”
She grasped the plastic bag and tore it open. The balloons were as red like her outfit.
The process was simple and repetitive. They took turns attaching the opening of the balloon to the nozzle of the helium pump. The gas expanded in the balloon. One balloon was defective in the package, so Carla threw it out.
Originally, there were one hundred balloons in the package. Subtract the balloon Carla threw out and you get ninety nine red balloons

Carla and Carlos stood on the flat rooftop and released the balloons into the neverending ether of darkness and stars. The balloons floated into the streets like dandelion seeds on a gentle breeze. People looked out from the windows, which used to have glass on them. They were all telling the little children to take cover.

“They were sent to spy on us!”
“Shoot them!”
“They could have cameras inside of them!”
“Take cover!!!!”
The townspeople were yelling throughout the streets and shooting rifles at the balloons.
BANG, BANG, BANG!!! Went the rifles.
POP, POP, POP!! Went the balloons.
BANG, BANG!!
POP, POP!
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!!!!!!!
POP, POP, POP, POP!!!!!!!
Right beside Carla was a box of fireworks and she set a few off with a lighter she got from a guy that was serving some pot to smoke.
The fireworks went in bursts of purple, red, blue, white, green and yellow. They blossomed through the sky like flowers in a garden with each a big loud “POP”.
A roar in the sky split Carla’s ears. VROOOOOOOOM!!!!!
A whistle echoed through the balmy and warm air. The object that fell out of the plane faster and faster.
39 seconds for the people within the target to take cover and then, BOOM! The light and fire erupted into the sky like a volcano. More planes roared in with more bombs.
Carla took off her heels and got back into the house with Carlos. Smoke choked Carla and her eyes teared up like she was cutting onions.
The roof of the house fell down and all she could see was fire. Carla was trapped under the rubble and could not breathe. It was like someone put the weight of the whole world on her body, crushing every limb.
One at a time and slowly, she picked herself up part by part. She tried to see through the burning wreck and wobbled as she walked. The walk sped up into a run. She kept running even if her feet were burning from the hot ground. She ran even if the uneven concrete and stone was poking her feet.

“ALMA!!! CARLOS!!!!” She shouted.
She took cover under the awning shade of a boutique. She waited for who knows how long. Tears sprang in her eyes and flowed down her soot covered cheeks. She curled up into a ball in front of the door and heaved each sob out of her body. It’s all my fault. If I had not set up those balloons, then none of this would have happened. I would go home with Carlos and we would go to sleep like nothing ever happened.
She looked up to see Alma leaning on Carlos and limping. Her golden locks were matted with ash, rubble and dirt. She winced everytime she set her foot down, but other than that, her face was blank in utter shock.

“Alma! I am so, so, so very sorry,” said Carla, “I was the one who set off the balloons and caused this mess. I’ll fix your foot if you come to my house.”
“I don’t think you can do anything,” Alma was slumped and sullen, “I’m pretty sure it’s broken. Unless you have a cast or anything, then there’s nothing you can do.”

She straightened her back and Carla saw something that imprinted itself into her mind like a heavy and hot iron stamp. A large piece of shrapnel was buried in her thigh. The blood stained the short, blue dress and turned it a deep purple.
They walked five burning blocks, not caring about being seen anymore. Alma held in her cries of pain so that she did not further burden the siblings.
“I can’t carry her anymore,” rasped Carlos.
Carla wrapped Alma’s arm around her shoulder, “Let me share the load.”
Three more burning blocks and then they saw paramedics with their stretchers taking the half charred bodies from the houses after the firemen put out the fire. Carla got their attention.
“Excuse me!” she exclaimed.
A young paramedic lifted his head.
“My friend is seriously injured. She needs medical help right away.”
The three teenagers were allowed to board the ambulance. They keeled over in disgust at being so near many real corpses.
Alma let out a shaky sigh and silently sobbed. Tears streamed down her dirty face and left streaks that showed her pale skin.
Carla wrapped her arm around her, but she felt compelled to pull away.
“I’ve hurt Alma,” she thought, “she can’t forgive me. What if I lose her? Her parents are going to be so mad at her, and then she will be mad at me for it.”
She had very few people aside from Alma. Carlos could barely speak anymore. Mom could not get out of bed. Dad was killed by a shell. Her cousins were far away from all of this. Her schoolmates had either left or were killed. But Alma stayed both mentally, emotionally and physically.
She was the literal embodiment of resilience. Carla then recalled a time when there were five small children in a car that was on its side. The parents were alive thank goodness, but seriously injured. It was in the middle of a bombing, and anyone who was anyone would have left them to die and save themselves instead. But Alma was a different story. She led a team effort to save the family. With the help of a few people, she used a boulder and a large plank as a fulcrum and lever. The car turned back up, and they all pulled the children and parents out.
There was another time when there was a boy with a loaf of bread that was beaten by a street gang to give it to them. They all left with the bread. The boy was barely conscious. So, she went to the store and bought whatever bread was left and gave it to him.
They pulled up to the hospital and went into the ER. It was a long wait and the three of them stayed silent. No one wanted to talk about what just happened. No one had a joke to tell either. No one could just casually talk about something that they did last week either.
Carla just wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t because of the harsh lights, the sound of people crying and whimpering in pain. The sound of machine dials beeping hammered and stabbed her head like daggers.
A sullen and tired nurse showed Alma to a cot and Carla and Carlos came with them.
As much as Carla wanted to go to sleep, she decided not to because the cots should be saved for the others who needed them more.
The nurses put Alma on a few medicines to relieve the pain. Carla could not remember how the whole removal went because her tiredness caused all her memories to be in a whole blur. For her broken foot, they put a grey walking boot on it
“Carla, go home,” whispered Alma, “you’re too tired.”
“No!” she tried to say firmly, “I can’t leave you here. Your parents are going to be so mad.”
“So let them be mad.”
“Are you mad?”
“Very.”
A lump formed in Carla’s throat. She turned around to go home and took Carlos with her.
They walked out of the hospital entrance. A clock on the wall told her that it was one in the morning.
They were both so tired that they went into an old friend’s house to stay there. Carla took off her shoes, lay down and pulled a blanket over herself. Carlos stayed in a guest room. She immediately fell into a deep sleep and woke up the next morning.
She wanted to go home, but at the same time she was too scared about what her mom would say. Well, she probably would not notice because she would probably stay in bed after the bombing because she was so scared.
Carlos came downstairs and said, “I’m sorry. If I had tried to convince you not to do the prank, then none of this would have happened.”
“No, I’m sorry. I was the one who came up with the idea.”
They sat in silence for a while. It was Carlos who broke it, “Do you want to check on Alma?”
“No. She’s probably still mad.”
They walked back to their house, which was surprisingly in the same condition they left it from last night.
“Do you even think that our balloons caused the bombing?” asked Carlos.
“Yes. The rifles and fireworks attracted the pilots’ attention and got them here.”
Carla wanted to see her mom. She was probably still shaken from last night.
She changed into her pajamas and walked into her mom’s room. Her mom lay in the field of pink floral designs. Her black hair was unkempt and messy. Her amber eyes met Carla’s and she said, “I could not sleep last night.”
“Are you trying to sleep now?”
“Unsuccessfully.”
“I don’t think we have any more sleep medicine left.”
“That’s not what I need now.”
“Then what do you need?”
“You.”
Carla pulled a book off of the shelf and sat in the little chair beside her mom.
“Do you want me to read to you?”
Her mom closed her eyes and nodded.
She opened the book and started on the first page. She read to her mom in a low and soft voice. This story was about a girl who would never think before proceeding with her actions.
Before her mom went to sleep she said, “Promise me that you will think for yourself.”
“Always,” Carla held her mom’s soft and warm hand.