The world began in a blinding white flash. He lay flat and empty until a whooshing sound filled him, stretching his skin tight. He swelled into a perfect sphere, then a blue ribbon was tied to him, anchoring him to a small silver weight. He strained skyward, but the ribbon held him, and safety settled over him.

Soon, he was bundled into a dark bag. Everything went black and tight. The bag pressed against him, muffling all sounds. He was motionless for what felt like an eternity. Then the bag moved. He was pulled out into a smaller room, vibrant with colourful banners and cards. Two people placed him at the back of a display, whispering, "Do you think we got him enough?" and "Hope he likes it!" They dimmed the lights and left him in spacious darkness.

He woke to singing, footsteps, and a joyful shout as the door burst open. A child rushed in, grabbed his ribbon, and tugged him closer as two adults wished the child a happy birthday.

"I'm going to call you Mr. Balloon!" Ryan declared, wrapping him in a warm hug. Mr. Balloon loved Ryan right back. He watched Ryan tear through presents, showing gratitude even for Auntie Eve's tracksuit, which Ryan clearly didn't love as much as his new toys.

"Can I take Mr. Balloon outside?" Ryan asked. "Just be careful," his dad replied.

The sky was a breathtaking expanse of clear blue. A gentle breeze tugged Mr. Balloon this way and that. The weight kept him safe. Once, he drifted too close to a thorny tree while Ryan was distracted, but Ryan's dad quickly pulled him back.

The day was a whirlwind of singing and presents. Mr. Balloon was a silent spectator to cake, party poppers, jokes, and games. He even helped Ryan in an egg and spoon race, soaring higher than ever as Ryan held his little silver weight. From that height, he could see over fences into other gardens, feeling the wind tempt him to fly. But Ryan held tight, and Mr. Balloon never wanted to leave his side.

As guests departed, Ryan settled in front of the TV, half-dozing, half-chatting to Mr. Balloon. His mum eventually carried him away for a bath and bedtime story. Mr. Balloon listened to the story, but glad he'd missed the noisy bath. As Ryan drifted off, Mr. Balloon watched his parents kiss his forehead goodnight. He remained there, watching over Ryan all night.

The week that followed was an adventure. Mr. Balloon and Ryan played hide-and-seek, tag, went bug hunting, and watched cartoons. Mr. Balloon was perfectly happy, but slowly he began to feel the increasing pull of the ribbon upon him.

As the second week began, he noticed it took longer to reach the ceiling. He felt less full, deflated. Ryan would pull him down, watching him drift upwards, but it was no longer the quick ascent it once was. Each day, the journey took longer. Ryan would press his sides, noticing his diminishing roundness. Then, one day, Ryan didn't play with him at all.

Mr. Balloon heard Ryan ask his mum about him. "Balloons don't last forever," she said. The words sent a shiver through him.

Slower and slower Mr. Balloon moved through the week. Soon, he couldn't touch the ceiling. He hung there, just out of reach. The next day, it was even further away. Ryan played with him less, only pulling him around the house occasionally. He still watched TV with Mr. Balloon beside him, until one morning.

Mr. Balloon woke closer to the floor than the ceiling. Ryan came in, pulled him to the sofa for cartoons, but a breeze from the open window pushed Mr. Balloon between Ryan and the TV. Ryan, annoyed, kicked him aside.

Mr. Balloon was deeply hurt. He hung barely two feet from the floor, forgotten in the corner.

Over the next two days, Mr. Balloon wasn't played with. He fought to stay off the ground, but on the third day, he didn't have the energy anymore. He collapsed.

Ryan's dad found him, a sorry, half-deflated heap on the floor. He brought Mr. Balloon to Ryan's mum. "Should we just bin this?" he asked. Ryan's mum replied, "It's up to Ryan."

The balloon was brought to Ryan. "Do you want to keep it or bin it?" his dad asked. Ryan took Mr. Balloon, holding him for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The warmth, the closeness; Ryan squeezed him gently.

Ryan looked up. "No," he said quietly. "I don't want to keep it. It's broken."

As Ryan's father reached to pick him up, Ryan stopped him. He took Mr. Balloon one last time, held him close, and in that moment, Mr. Balloon saw it all: the blinding white light of his birth, the rush of air filling him, the thrill of soaring toward the ceiling, the joy of dancing with Ryan in the garden and the comfort of his little boy's presence. He felt the wind, wild and free, beckoning him, the weight of the ribbon lifting away, allowing him to fly higher, truly free, among the clouds and birds, soaring into the endless blue.

Then Ryan placed him on the floor, crushing him with his foot. There was one loud, final BANG.

Mr. Balloon was no more.

That night, Ryan couldn't sleep. He kept looking at the corner where Mr. Balloon used to float, expecting to see him there. "Mummy," he whispered through his tears, "can Mr. Balloon come back?"

"No, sweetheart," she said softly, stroking his hair. "He can't come back."

For two days, Ryan cried himself to sleep, the weight of those words settling deeper each time.