Bubbles make me cry . Call me silly , or even sentimental … I don't care . You will never understand it , anyway . Yes , bubbles make me cry . How can I expect anybody to understand . It doesn't make sense … to others , that is … but it makes perfect sense to me .
I remember the day . The moment when the news was delivered . I call it my bubble-bursting moment of bravado . Ha ! A facade of bravado . That's all it ever was .
My fragile "bubble-wrap" baby who will never experience … a bubble bath … the simple joy of blowing bubbles … watching the endless stream … dozens of multi-coloured bubbles … dense , packed close , jostling for space just like eager kids in the ice-cream or hot-dog queue at the local fair …
I tear my gaze away from floating bubbles . I canot bear to see the floating kaleidoscope disintegrate … so fleeting , transient … just like your existence .
Check out the Bluebell Short Story Slam prompt at : http://bluebellbooks.blogspot.com/2011/09/short-story-slam-week-11.html