Existence is not something which can be expected. It is something which is often 
thrust upon things without their consent, without their knowledge, and mostly 
without forethought as to what would be the best thing that they could be. That 
was one of the blessings, I guess, which I came into this world with. Born from 
a chemical stew of, well, stuff. Words like polymers, surfactants, and emulations 
are things I heard used before I was formed and rolled and cooked to become 
vulcanized. I was then washed and tested. The inflation was a surprise. But one 
that was only temporary. It felt natural. It felt right having all of that air 
inside of me. The floating was the best part but it didn't last. So very 
disappointing to have the air all out but I was put into a package with others. 
We were all there waiting as the box closed over us and the other in different 
packages and our journey began. Not that we could see any of it, but the 
bouncing, the slamming all of that we could feel though the box as we were 
jostled about inside of the box.

Then there was the store. The shelves where more waiting. Ever so much waiting 
to be filled again. The wait seemed to last for weeks, possibly months. I was in 
the back of the line so I had to wait even longer. I had to watch the others get 
picked first, to hear the soft whoosh of joy of each package as it was grabbed 
off of the peg and put in a hand or basket. The best is the sound a child makes 
in awe at our forms. At the potential of our forms.

Last week a rumor came down from one of the packages higher up. The rumor was 
that some teenagers had come in and were talking about something before picking 
up several packages of my cousins. They spoke of filling them with water or with 
shaving cream and hurling them at cars or other people. I don't know whether to 
be frightened or thrilled at the possibility of having such exotic substances 
filling me up prior to be burst and rent in passing. Just for a few minutes of 
joy. To bring those people a few minutes of joy. Is that not what I was made for? 
To bring joy?

My day eventually came. I think I like the fact that the girl watching our 
shelves and pegs was nice enough to bring the oldest ones off first before 
putting the newer ones on behind us. To create an actual cycle of new and old. 
She could have been lazy and just added the new ones to the front possibly 
delaying my pack's purchase indefinitely. The hand was a woman's, a young woman. 
She told the cashier that we were destined to be used for her husband's thirtieth 
birthday party. Ah! The destiny! To be there for a party! There is nothing I 
would rather be used for than to be part of a such a celebration. The feelings 
of being around people, happy people, all jostling and having fun. Creating joy 
in their words, their actions! That I was a part of that, to be observant of 
everything should I hung high on a wall or on a celling. Or batted around by a 
couple of children or adults as part of a game. Even being popped as part of a 
game would ever be so much joy.

But such had to wait. I was not chosen at the party and the package which has 
become my home for so very long has stayed closed. And inside a drawer which 
only sees occasional activity. The time passes without mark or notice. We all 
sit and tire ourselves out in anticipation. We converse over the things that we 
will do once we are freed from the package and inflated. The ways in which we 
will float about and dance with the joy of being filled. A few brave ones even 
hope that there might be helium in their future. That they might be released to 
float ever skywards to see the land beneath them as the wind do what winds do 
with all released into their grasp. The stories keep us happy. Keep us from 
falling into despair and drying out to the point that we are unusable.

Then one day it happens. The drawer opens and a hand reaches for us, opening the 
package and withdrawing one of our number. We hear the sound of inflation and 
the scramble of claws on the wooden floor. Then the barks came. One after another. 
The whole of the room seemed to shake. The dog must be a large one. It continues 
to bark and we can hear the occasional squeak of rubber against teeth in among 
the barks and thumps and cheers from a person, at first, seeming to encourage the 
dog we can hear and only imagine, at whatever it is that has the attention of 
each and every one of us still in the package, hidden away in the drawer. We hear 
so much and then as suddenly as it began, the noise stops. There is nothing else 
going on. Silence. The silence of a home that has gone on to other things, that 
is. We wondered, was that all. Did he get popped? Are they simply done for the 
time being or did something else happen.

More time passed. I don't know what was going on, none of us do. We think we 
occasionally hear the play happen again. The same thumping, the same sounds of 
laughter, beautiful, wonderful laughter. There isn't anything that those of us 
in here wouldn't give to find out exactly what is going on out there in that 
room. Until we hear the sound most of us dread. The pop. We all understand that 
it can happen at anytime to any one of us. There are those who think that it is 
better than a slow deflation and to be thrown away with our knot intact. I could 
not care either way so long as my time was spent doing and bringing the same sort 
of laughter that we have heard from outside of the drawer for the few days or 
week or however much time it is that has passed.

Those thoughts were just beginning to drift away as the world became bright again 
and a hand reached in grabbing another one of us, followed by the sound, the joy 
of the inflation. Barking continued as did the thumping before again into silence 
the house descended. The talking didn't stop for days. We thought we understood 
the pattern now and it was time to decide if this was the sort of thing that we 
wanted to be a part of. There really was no debate over if it was fun. We had 
heard it. We had heard it several times now. The questions were about if a dog's 
fun was the same as a human's?

"But we have heard the human laugh as well. This their joy as well, it is not 
just the canine's. It is good."

That came from the bottom. A red number who fancied herself as the only one who 
could reason in our entire group. The funny thing was that no one opposed the 
argument this time, much against the usual away of things in here. Red had hit 
upon the exact right thing to say to the rest of us who hadn't been able to 
decide just yet. Excitedly all of us began to speculate about what the dog was 
doing and how much fun the people were having watching it. When we heard the 
sound again. The pop of a life of bringing joy being ended. Tension built up in 
all of us waiting for the drawer to be opened again, but it was not to be this 
day. Instead a door opened and the sound of a dog being ushered outside reported 
to us the next move of the evening. Despite the obvious end of play for the day, 
the tension continued to build in the package. We all wanted to be the next one. 
And despite how we otherwise feel about such things, the idea, the wish that if 
we were not the next one that they would be popped quickly so that our own chance 
would come again far sooner than later.

But to actually utter such a thought would be considered rather poor in taste. 
It is our job and purpose to bring joy and wishing that joy to be short lived, 
well, that is not something readily admits to.

In any case, the world moved along some more. Days and days passed before we 
felt the opening of the drawer once again. The sense of anticipation had never 
left us and we were very hopeful that there was going to be a hand to remove us. 
Luck was with us. Well, with me mostly this time. The hand reached into our 
package and snagged me.

I got stretched and pulled. I felt lips against me and then I felt the air 
starting to push against my sides. Soon I was pinched and tied, tightly, closed. 
I found my self floating up in the air having been bopped by a hand. For the 
first time I get to see the room. There is the start of a library. A shelf of 
books, packed tightly, two and, yes -- three deep in some cases. I found myself 
being bopped again and flying almost straight up in the room and right into the 
blades of a ceiling fan. I came back down onto a love seat and then a wet nose 
was sniffing me. The dog was indeed large. A lab, black as night with a bright 
red collar around its neck. Staring right at me, right into me with the look of 
a hunter across its blocky, sharply defined face. A different sort of tension 
crosses my taught skin. Expectation was starting to fill me.

I was picked up and flung into air, over a shoulder into the empty space when it 
happened. A nose hits me as I was coming down and I am flung in another 
direction, randomly. The world goes dizzily in circles as I hear a low growl and 
scrambling feet beneath me when the side of the face of the dog smacks me back 
in the direction I first came from. I think. The speed in which all of this 
happened was disorienting. A bark came and then hands were grasping me while a 
bit a laugh came from some other part of the room I could not see. What I did 
see is a smile on the face of the human that was holding me. The only thing that 
we want and need from our short existence. Joy.

The next few minutes were nothing but that same joy as I was bounced around the 
room while laughter and barking filled all of the rest of the space in the room.

I was put away, sort of, by the fireplace. Far enough out of the dog's reach but 
easy for the humans to get to me. However, I am a bit apprehensive at the 
location. The stone work of the wall behind my perch that partially holds me 
down so I don't move has a few edges to it. The position makes me a bit nervous. 
They're not sharp, not sharp like a knife. But there is an edge to them with a 
certain sort of roughness that does not exactly leave me feeling relaxed given 
my current state. The position does give me a sense of time that did not exist 
when living in the drawer. I can see the sun and the night, things of wonder 
that I never had the pleasure of truly witnessing before. Sunsets and sunrises 
have quickly become my favorite of times.

Which is why I am happy to report that play happens most often during the 
evening. There is a certain thrill that occurs when I am caught in a sunbeam 
while being bounced from nose to nose to fist to hand to foot and toe and into 
the air. A thrill that has seen more days than I could have ever dreamt of having. 
Which is why it seemed like the pop came far quicker than it really did. Time 
itself was always against me in this regard. Eventually, we all break down, we 
all lose our stretchiness, the air will have to leave us at some point. But 
despite how short my life was, despite that I did not get to play in ever single 
moment, I did bring joy to these people as I was made to do. I brought happiness 
and made this world a better place for it.