The Ball of Life

There was a knock on my door. I opened it and he was there.

Vitaglobulus citorotatus ambulocanthus brutum. I did not know that before, but that is what I found out he was. A living spherical fast-rotating mobile wheel-like creature. Indeed, he had the appearance of any ball you see the children playing with, as you pass by the park in the evenings. Only he was larger, like an overblown football, one which humans would use if they were giants. And like a ball gathering speed downhill, he rolled straight through the door and into the hall.

At first, he refused to settle and bounced up and down as any ball would. He rolled through the rooms of my house as though it were a museum or an art gallery meant for display. You could clearly see he was no ordinary ball from the way he deftly maneuvered through the various nooks and corners. At that moment, I did not know he was a living being, but I guessed something odd was going on. After he was done with his leaping, hopping, skipping, capering, jouncing and gamboling, he rolled to the hall and settled on the couch. It was then I was able to take a good look at him for the first time.

He sat on the couch in blissful stillness, as though he had derived great enjoyment and satisfaction from his playful frolic through the rooms. If you can call the ball a body, then his entire body was a face. Two round eyes peered at me with a jovial twinkle in them. Below his eyes, a small mouth with delicate lips parted with the most friendly smile I had ever seen in my life. And instead of being baffled or afraid, it made me feel delighted to find so strange a creature sitting before me.

 

“So how is your rolling; I mean your life, going?” he asked.

“Very ordinary,” I replied.

“Is that so? You see, life is like a ball. All you need to do is put a spin on it. Then the ordinary will become extraordinary, the usual appear unusual, and the everyday turn into once in a lifetime!”

“You look like Humpty-Dumpty and speak in riddles. And you are weird but fun like the Terries and Fermies,” I said and laughed. He joined in the laughter and almost rolled down the couch in his mirth.

“I am just a roller, though you might think I am a joker. I am also bipolar but I am no moaner. I am neither an ogre nor a poser. I am a roller coaster. I have no motor, but I am still a globetrotter. Come October, if you look over your shoulder and take a look closer, you will be older. But I will always stay a sober roamer.”

He burst into laughter and bounced away, out through the door, rolling down the street. As I sat in wonderment, I saw him vanish around the bend.

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Beryl Zephyr

An occasional writer but a regular thinker, Beryl sometimes fiddles in speculative fiction. He sees both humour and tragedy in everyday events and is extremely concerned with the fate of other creatures trapped in the monstrous march of 21st-century human civilization.

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