Pop goes the balloon

It's hard to be a balloon when you're afraid of heights.
No matter how high you go, people expect you to keep climbing.
Sure, some of us are lucky and get to be filled with water. Or get to be blown up one breath at a time, then rain down with others from a net at the end of a party.
But not me. I got to be filled with helium and tied to a string. Then as if that wasn't enough, I got handed to a child!
Not two seconds later, he let me go.
As I floated up, up, up into the air, I screamed at him to grab the string. But the kid rushed over to goggle at the monkeys in their cage. By the time he realized I was gone, he was just a smudge on the ground.
A very small smudge.
If balloons could burst from terror, I would have. There were far too many dangers for a little balloon like me. Birds, planes, the weather, anything could happen to me.
I was adrift, climbing higher into that monstrous blue with no way to get down.
Until I popped.
I wouldn't get to slowly deflate. I would be pounded with pressure until my flimsy rubber self reached the breaking point.
Pop!
Farewell to a balloon who had barely begun to float.