This is along the same lines as my last entry. It’s a little darker; James is most definitely a child. But you may consider this and the previous story a matching pair in experimental writing:

James was excited–had had his own helium balloon–he had always wanted one.
He had seen them in the shops, crowded in their cages up by the ceiling. He had always wondered who bought them– who liberated them from their fluorescent prisons, pushed up against lights, corralled together? When he had asked his mother what they were for, and why they never bought one, she had always told him that people who had more money than affection bought them to make up for the time they hadn’t spent with their families. James had just assumed that that was a fancy way of saying that she couldn’t afford to buy him one at the time. He had been right.

But then, his brother had come home from college, and together they had gone to run errands. James had been careful– quiet, and helpful when asked to do something– and now he was ready. As they approached the cash register, James tugged on his brother’s coat, and asked. His brother looked down, and with more magnanimity than James had ever known, smiled and said, “Why not?” James was thrilled to pick out a bright red one with a smiling yellow face on it. It was in the shape of a heart, and had cost his brother two dollars and seventeen cents. James knew that they were the best two dollars and seventeen cents ever spent. He proudly held up his wrist for his brother to tie it on, and was very careful with it when he got in the car, making sure his brother knew that he was responsible and would not slam it in the door. He gazed at it all the way home, never once looking away from the happily smiling face. His bright blue eyes glazed over, as he dreamed of the things he could do with this balloon when he got home– all of the games he would be able to play. As soon as his brother parked the car in the driveway, James opened his car door, and as carefully as possible, jumped out and ran in the house. Up in his room he used a pair of scissors to cut the balloon’s string off of his wrist. It bounced up the the ceiling, still smiling down at him. He smiled back, then grabbed the string and ran to his sister’s room. He knocked on the door. No one answered, he pulled it open, and ran in. He wondered if she was on her balcony, reading. He ran towards the open door to check. As he ran he tripped over a shoe left carelessly in the middle of the floor. He lost his balance and teetered towards the edge of the balcony. The railing gave way, and he pitched to the ground, twenty feet away. As his small body hit the ground, the red balloon with the smiling face drifted away towards the sky.