The Boy Who Floated Away

Oliver had been saving his coins for weeks, and today was finally the day he would visit the market fair. The balloon man stood at the corner with a giant bundle of colours — red, yellow, blue, green, and every shade between. “I’ll take one,” Oliver said. Then he looked at them again. “Actually… I’ll take them all!” The man gave him a puzzled look, shrugged, and handed over every last string.

Oliver grabbed the enormous bundle of strings — and immediately felt his feet leave the ground. He yelped, kicked at the air, and rose above the market stalls as the people below pointed and gasped. Up he went, past the chimneys and the roofs, his red striped shirt flapping in the breeze.

Higher and higher he drifted, the village spreading out beneath him like a quilt of rooftops and winding lanes. He could see Mrs. Flannery hanging her laundry, and the Baker twins chasing their dog in circles. From up here, everything looked wonderfully small.

A gentle breeze nudged him eastward, over the silver ribbon of the river below. Fishermen along the banks tilted their heads up in disbelief, and one of them dropped his fishing rod. Oliver grinned and waved down at them.

Then the great Elm tree came into view — ancient and wide, its broad branches reaching out like welcoming arms. Oliver swung his legs, angled himself just right, and as the wind carried him close, he let go of the strings and landed with a thump on a thick, sturdy branch.

He caught his breath, wrapped his arms around the branch, and watched the balloons drift away — a rising cluster of colours slowly dissolving into the evening sky. He smiled. That, he decided, had been very much worth every coin.