Young Writers Society

I finished attaching the note and let the balloon float out to the end of its string. It tugged and jerked wildly in the autumn breeze, as if it were a live thing, ready to go sailing away from me into the pale indigo sky. Far beyond the point of tears, I stared at it numbly, telling myself that I should just let it go but still not quite ready to actually do it. Shuddering as I inhaled a deep breath, I closed my eyes and tried to tell myself why I should.

"It's just a balloon," I muttered softly. "It's not him. Just because you're letting go of this balloon doesn't mean you have to let go of him. So, be strong, and let it go. It will help you. The doctor said it would." But my shivering hand refused to loosen its grip on the string. Sighing dismally, I opened my eyes again.

I was standing on top of a hill, the solitary inhabitant of the meadow I was in. The wind was rushing all around me, rustling the slightly brown, knee-high grass. It was chilly outside; when I inhaled, I could feel the freezing air as it flowed down my throat, numbing my insides. I slouched, my head nearly hanging on my chest, as I attempted to convince myself to let go.

I wasn't ready. It was too soon. The doctor didn't know what was good for me. How could he? I rarely told him the truth; I only went to him because my parents forced me to. They said it would help me, talking to some man that I didn't know, didn't trust, and didn't care about. They said it would bring closure. I didn't have much choice anyway, so I went and sat, blankly listening as he talked to me about how I should forget what had happened. What did he know? Why was I even listening to him? I had so many questions with answers I couldn't find.

I heard something moving behind me. Slowly, I turned to see what it was.

It was him. He was really there. After weeks of crying myself to sleep, wishing that I could've spoken to him one last time, he'd come back. He'd come back. He'd really come back.

I ran to him. Still clutching the balloon in one hand, I sped to him through the tall grasses and cast my arms about him, laughing hysterically through my tears. We careened to the ground, the red balloon hovering above us as we embraced.

I drew back for a moment, staring into his icy blue eyes, still in shock that he was really there. He grinned, that crooked smile I'd replayed in my mind again and again since he'd left. He drew one hand across my face, wiping off the crystal-clear teardrops.

"You're back," I said in disbelief, repeating the words over and over again, my voice growing softer as I drew my fingers across his forehead, brushing the shaggy hair away.

"Yes, I am," he replied softly. "I'd never leave you. I never have. You just couldn't see me. But I've always been with you, darling. I've always been right beside you, every second. I'll never leave you..." the sound of his raspy voice trailed off as I tucked my face into his shoulder.

"You left me. You've been gone for weeks now. They said that you left when the car ran off the road. But I never believed them. I knew you were still here. You didn't die." Staring deep into his eyes, I saw them grow cold. "You didn't die. You couldn't have. Right?"

He drew in a deep breath, as if reluctant to say the next few words. "I left my other body, but I've never left you."

We were silent for a few moments as I coped with his words. "But if you're gone, then why are you here?"

"I told you. I've been with you the whole time. I've never left you. I saw that you needed help, and so I'm helping you." He rose to his feet, extending a hand for me to take. I took it, and he helped me up. He brushed his fingers down my arm and continued until he reached the hand clutching the ballon. The fingers wrapped around the hand and gently brought it up until it was near my shoulders, the balloon impatiently tugging in my hand.

"I need to help you let go of it," he said, motioning towards the balloon.

My heart dropped in my chest. I'd written a note to him, telling him how much I'd loved him, how much I missed him, and attached it to the balloon. The doctor said I should do it, that wherever the boy I loved was, he'd be able to read it. He said it would help me realize that my boy was gone. I hadn't believed him. And, even though my boy was standing next to me, I wasn't sure I would be able to let the balloon go. Letting it go would mean that I'd come to terms with him being gone. I didn't think I could do that. I wasn't ready.

"I can't," I muttered. "There's no way. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough."

"You can, love," he whispered. "I promise it. You just need to look inside yourself. The strength is there. I'll help you."

Gazing into his eyes, I managed to nod.

His fingers traced their way around my hand, weaving their way into the clutched fist holding the balloon's string. Slowly, they continued until my hand relaxed. I stared at his face, memorizing every feature.

"Are you ready?" he asked patiently. I managed a nod. "Alright, then," he breathed.

And then, there went the balloon. The string fled out of my hand and was out of reach in moments. My boy and I stood there, watching as the wind snatched up the balloon and carried it away. I stared at it, watching as it grew smaller and smaller in the sky, weaving back and forth as it went up. I watched it, willing the tears back. When the balloon was almost out of sight, I heard a whisper in my ear.

"Remember, darling, I'll always be with you. Never forget me. I know I won't forget you. I love you."

The next thing I knew, I was alone with the wind.

I finished attaching the note and let the balloon float out to the end of its string. It tugged and jerked wildly in the autumn breeze, I don't think that it would have wild movements in something as calm as a breeze as if it were a live living thing, ready to go sailing sail away from me into the pale indigo sky. Far beyond the point of tears, I stared at it numbly, telling myself that I should just let it go but still not quite ready to actually do it. I think the ending of this is unnecessary, and it disrupts the flow Shuddering as I inhaled a deep breath, I closed my eyes and tried to tell myself why I should. This sounds a bit chunky, maybe something more along the lines of "and tried to convince myself to let go."

"It's just a balloon," I muttered softly. "It's not him. Just because you're letting go of this balloon doesn't mean you have to let go of him. So, be strong, and let it go. It will help you. The doctor said it would." But my shivering hand refused to loosen its grip on the string. Sighing dismally, I opened my eyes again.

I was standing on top of a hill, the solitary inhabitant of the meadow I was in. Hm... I would suggest picking one or the other, I don't think you'd really see a hill in a meadow, or else it wouldn't be considered a meadow. Since you describe the grass, I would say meadow. The wind was rushing all around me, rustling the slightly brown, knee-high grass. It was chilly outside; when I inhaled, I could feel the freezing air as it flowed down my throat, numbing my insides. I slouched, my head nearly hanging onto? I'm not quite sure what you mean here, so I'm not totally sure if onto is the right word my chest, as I attempted to convince myself to let go.

I wasn't ready. It was too soon. The doctor didn't know what was good for me. How could he? I rarely told him the truth; I only went to him because my parents forced me to. They said it would help me, talking to some man that I didn't know, didn't trust, and didn't care about. They said it would bring closure. I didn't have much choice anyway, so I went and sat, blankly listening as he talked to me about how I should forget what had happened. What did he know? Why was I even listening to him? I had so many questions with answers I couldn't find. I had so many unanswered questions.

I heard something moving behind me. Slowly, I turned to see what it was.

It was him. He was really there. After weeks of crying myself to sleep, wishing that I could've spoken to him one last time, he'd come back. He'd come back. He'd really come back.

I ran to him. You repeat yourself in the next sentence, but with different words Still clutching the balloon in one hand, I sped to him through the tall grasses and cast my arms about him, laughing hysterically through my tears. We careened to the ground, the red balloon hovering above us as we embraced.

I drew back for a moment, staring into his icy blue eyes, still in shock that he was really there. He grinned, that crooked smile I'd replayed in my mind again and again since he'd left. I feel like since Twilight got popular, a lot of fictional guys have crooked smiles... strange, eh? He drew one hand across my face, wiping off the crystal-clear She can't exactly see the tears on her face teardrops.

"You're back," I said in disbelief, repeating the words over and over again, my voice growing softer as I drew my fingers across his forehead, brushing the shaggy hair away.

"Yes, I am," he replied softly. "I'd never leave you. I never have. You just couldn't see me. But I've always been with you, darling. I've always been right beside you, every second. I'll never leave you..." the sound of his raspy voice trailed off as I tucked my face into his shoulder.

"You left me. You've been gone for weeks now. They said that you left when the car ran off the road. But I never believed them. I knew you were still here. You didn't die." Staring deep into his eyes, I saw them grow cold. "You didn't die. You couldn't have. Right?"

He drew in a deep breath, as if reluctant to say the next few words. "I left my other body, but I've never left you."

We were silent for a few moments as I coped with his words. "But if you're gone, then why are you here?"

"I told you. I've been with you the whole time. I've never left you. I saw that you needed help, and so I'm helping you." He rose to his feet, extending a hand for me to take. I took it, and he helped me up. He brushed his fingers down my arm and continued until he reached the hand clutching the ballon. The fingers wrapped around the hand and gently brought it up until it was near my shoulders, the balloon impatiently tugging in my hand. I'm impressed that she hasn't let go of the balloon yet

"I need to help you let go of it," he said, motioning towards the balloon.

My heart dropped in my chest. I'd written a note to him, telling him how much I'd loved him, how much I missed him, and attached it to the balloon. The doctor said I should do it, that wherever the boy I loved was, he'd be able to read it. He said it would help me realize that my boy This wording irks me a bit. "my boy" just doesn't seem to fit was gone. I hadn't believed him. And, even though my boy again with the "my boy" was standing next to me, I wasn't sure I would be able to let the balloon go. Letting it go would mean that I'd come to terms with him being gone. I didn't think I could do that. I wasn't ready.

"I can't," I muttered. "There's no way. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough."

"You can, love," he whispered. "I promise it. You just need to look inside yourself. The strength is there. I'll help you."

Gazing into his eyes, I managed to nod.

His fingers traced their way around my hand, weaving their way into the clutched fist holding the balloon's string. Slowly, they continued until my hand relaxed. I stared at his face, memorizing every feature.

"Are you ready?" he asked patiently. I managed a nod. "Alright, then," he breathed.

And then, there went the balloon. The string fled out of my hand and was out of reach in moments. My boy irkkkk. I have a suggestion. Instead of calling him "my boy", perhaps you could give him a name? and I stood there, watching as the wind snatched up the balloon and carried it away. I stared at it, watching I would remove this 'watching' altogether as it grew smaller and smaller in the sky, weaving back and forth as it went up. I watched it, willing the tears back. When the balloon was almost out of sight, I heard a whisper in my ear.

"Remember, darling, I'll always be with you. Never forget me. I know I won't forget you. I love you."

The next thing I knew, I was alone with the wind.

This is a cute, sad(ish) story, and overall it was enjoyable. However, it was one that is told many times, and it could be better.
It's sad, losing someone you love, but I found that in this story, the readers never really get to know the boy, or his relationship to the girl. What would pull on the heartstrings more, is if you incorporated flashbacks into your piece. Perhaps, while she's holding the balloon she thinks back to her favourite memory, or the first time they met, or maybe when she got the news about his accident? I think it would develop the characters better. It would certainly make me care more. But, of course, that is just a suggestion.
Hope this review helped, and I wish you a good day.

Hi there!
This was really sweet. I really like the idea of letting go of the balloon, it was perfect to demonstrate letting go of a human being. Your writing flowed well, I could feel the character's reluctance, but I do agree with confetti. What would make it even better would be if you made us care more about the characters, by adding a flashback or something.

"Remember, darling, I'll always be with you. Never forget me. I know I won't forget you. I love you."

The ending was spoilt by this. It was sounded cliche and cheesy to me. Maybe if you just wrote 'I love you'?

But great job otherwise. Keep writing!

I won't lie. Never have I read a story as powerful as this one that you have created. It had all the right elements to make the reader really care about the character and the pain they were going through. I've been trying to find something like this to read for days and just couldn't I was upset. This made it better. You really are a gifted writer I tell you the truth. I look forward to more of your writer in the near future. Keep this up it was really very sweet.