The Bubble

I exist. I suddenly came into being. I was.

A gentle breeze on a hot summer afternoon lifted me from the plastic womb that formed me. A child, laughing, breathed me into shape. I was floating; carried this way and that by the rising currents of warm air. The warmth - it held me; surrounded me; willed me into my rotundness; made me feel lighter than a feather.

I am. I am, but a wispy, film of soap and water. I am beautiful - I know I am. I see the children pointing excitedly at me; My ballerina-like movements bring unfettered joy in the eyes of the old woman defiantly plodding in the wake of her dancing granddaughter. I sport a rainbow all around me: the iridescence promising infinite, unfathomable possibilities. The colours clashed and melded into patterns that defied logic and the imagination of the crowd that had gathered around me, admiring. I see an older boy draw near. His appreciation for me seems to know no bounds. He is reaching for me. I glow extra-bright with the adoration.

I wasn't. I suddenly winked out of existence. I ceased to be.