Alliteration (al-lit’-er-a’-tion): Repetition of the same letter or sound within nearby words. Most often, repeated initial consonants. Taken to an extreme alliteration becomes the stylistic vice of paroemion where nearly every word in a sentence begins with the same consonant.
Big blue balloons bounced around the city square. It was the annual celebration of the balloon’s invention in the little town of Riva in eastern Peladys. It was a joyous week-long celebration of the balloon with a different shape being celebrated every two days. Today was day one: hot dog shaped oblong balloons. For hundreds of years they have been twisted into various animal forms and other thing we won’t mention here. The restricted twisting would take place in back rooms, away from the square, in adult-only performances, for men only. Otherwise there were dachshunds, seals, giraffes and even platypuses, twisted into existence by the performers around the city square.
Nobody knows how or why the balloon was invented, let alone, the material they are made of. The genesis myth says that in 1601 Jules Glower was boiling his shoes to remove cement residue from his work as a mason. He fell asleep. The mixture of beer and sacred spring water he was using almost boiled away. The smell awakened him. He reached in the kettle to retrieve his shoes. They were at the edge of destruction—soft and falling apart. He had a small penny whistle that his mother had given him for his 30th birthday. He jammed it into the shoe’s heel thinking he may invent a shoe whistle, with a shoe giving the whistle a unique sound, like putting a mute on a trumpet. He blew into the whistle and the shoe began to expand. It was not unlike a pig’s bladder, but it was thin and transparent. He pried the shoe off the sole. The sole had expanded to the point that it was paper thin. He pulled out the whistle and quickly filled the hole with chewing gum, which had only just been discovered. He held up the inflated sole and hit it with his fist. It almost floated out the window. He named what he had it the “ball-loony.” Because of its shape and erratic trajectory when it was batted around—it was “loony.” Ball-loony.
Quite a story! There is no way it can be true, but who cares. Like all genesis myths, they are concocted to underwrite an event that needs justifying or accounting for. The myth accounts for why we are how we are. My family subscribes to the myth that we are descended from Vikings. It helps to account for family patterns of bipolar disorder, its fighting spirit, and generally dysfunctional tendencies. We all take Lithium, attend anger management workshops, and have arrest records. The men own boats, have beards and tattoos, and carry compasses. The women are all beautiful, carry handguns, kick ass, run the family, and make great soup.
Every year at the celebration of the balloon’s invention, there is the Great Reenactment staged in accordance with the myth. Every year it fails to produce a balloon—or “ball-loony.” Nobody cares. Hooting and yelling, nearly buried in a sea of balloons, celebrants, at sundown of the celebration’s second day, begin the “popping.” It symbolizes the fragility of life and the suddenness with which it may take leave. This is why the “Poppers” affect a solemn demeanor after their initial elation as they “kill” the balloons with antique stickpins from the 1600s, most of which have been passed down in families.
Tradition. The celebration of the balloon’s invention will go on forever. It keeps the past alive in the present. It keeps us in suspense until it’s advent each year. Or with some traditions, they are enacted every day at a specific time. Suspense runs deep into the human condition. Anticipation seasons life with hope and fear.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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