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Rated: E · Fiction · Emotional · #1464844
A story about a bubble.Reviews welcome. Thanks to my sister for helping w/editing/revising
He could feel himself being pushed, stretching out, and expanding. His thick, oily body began to take shape. No longer was he a long, wriggling mass, but instead a large, spherical shape. As his body was ripped away from the round walls it knew so well, the wind that had been blowing him from his comfortable home ceased.
         There was a whisper, so quiet it would have put a mouse to shame. But the bubble heard it, as the wind carried the words to the delicate bubble. "Go,"  it said, "be happy, and spread as much joy as possible. The world needs it more than ever." With that, the girl released the bubble, letting the wind care for it. "Take him where he needs to go," she told the wind as it carried the bubble away.
         The bubble did not want to leave this girl, who seemed so sad. But he had been given a mission by the only thing he knew, so he let himself be carried by the wind. It gently took him over the fence, and into the world. He looked at everything, and wondered where to start.
         He was soon attracted to a house some shouts were coming from. Through a window, he saw two people yelling at each other. They were pointing at seemingly random objects and shouting pointless things at the top of their lungs. The bubble, unsure of how to help these people out, decided to look around and see if there was anything else he could do. Suddenly, a small face caught his attention. A child, younger than the one who had created him, was staring out a window, looking sad as the people in the next room continued to yell.
         As he tried to think of a way to help her, the girl suddenly smiled. At first, the bubble wondered what had cheered her up, but then he noticed that she was looking at him. He realized that just being a bubble made people happy. Why else would the girl have created him, when he could do nothing else? While the bubble was marveling at this thought, the wind said, "your work here is done. It is time to move on," and blew him away from her.
         The wind soon turned into a gentle breeze, and the bubble faced a shopping center. The bubble, searching for unhappy people, soon found an angry child.  The screaming boy was trying to pull his mother toward a candy shop. The bubble, seeing that the mother was busy trying to keep track of both her merchandise and her son, decided it was time to help. When the mother was looking the opposite way - for the bubble knew, for some reason, that adults should not see him - he gently floated down toward the boy. The child, seeing the magical colors of the bubble, forgot about the sweets. He watched, transfixed by the rays of light passing through the oily sphere and soon wanted only to go home and blow bubbles of his own.
         Not sure of where to go, the bubble decided to let the wind take him to wherever he needed to be. "You have done well, and are almost done. There is just one more thing for you to do."As the wind died down, the bubble took in its surroundings. To its surprise, the wind had taken him back to his  birthplace. "But what can I do here?" asked the bubble. The wind, however, offered no answers.
         He floated into the house through an open window and saw the girl who had created him. She was with her family, watching the news on a war. They seemed concerned, and one family member was even praying. As the girl got up to get a tissue, she saw the bubble floating into the room. She stopped in front of it, watching as it hovered in front of her. She remembered what she had said to this bubble earlier that day, and hoped that it had managed to spread a little happiness. The thought made her smile. At that moment, the bubble burst, leaving the girl with just a memory of her smile reflected back at her on the glossy surface.
         She turned back to her family, knowing that the bubble had succeeded in its mission. "You know what, guys? I think everything will be alright."
© Copyright 2008 Simon Avery (lawngnome at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1464844