Something About a Corndog

A man was walking through a carnival. He bought a corndog. All of a sudden a little boy that looked very familiar appeared before him. "Don't eat it," he said to the man. "It's better to have an appetite."

The boy reached into the man and pulled out his stomach. He blew into it, tied it, and made a balloon- a friendly shade of red. The boy handed the man the balloon, and before the man could speak, the boy grabbed his left hand and pulled him along through the crowd.

The boy began to skip, and to keep up with his rhythm, the man eventually had to follow suit. Soon the man felt as if he was suspended in time- that feeling he got when he was a little boy himself, when he would run down the stairs so fast that he would close his eyes in hopes of not feeling the pain of a fall, and he never did.

He looked down and the ground was drifting away…or maybe he was. He floated up in the air while the boy, still skipping below, matched his height whenever each of his small feet left the ground. The man looked up toward the clouds. The next time he looked down, the boy was only a little dot below…

…The little boy ate a corndog. He looked up to the sky. He saw the faces above and waved, squinting and chewing at the same time. The boy's mother jerked him by the hand, pulling him in the opposite direction. He turned around one last time to look up, and when he returned to the treat in his hands, it was gone.