Once upon a time, there was a little numbat named Oscar. He was gentle and squirrel-like, and had a weakness for termite fontanelles. One day, as Oscar was ambling to the cool hollow log where he preferred to spend the hottest part of the afternoon, he came across a curious object.

It was strange and beautiful.

He touched it, gently, with the tip of one claw. It made an appealing dimple that sprang back immediately. He extended his long, sticky tongue. The thing was very light! He could move it this way and that by pulling with his tongue. The taste was impossible to place; it was dry and warm and alien, but the thing did not pull away. Oscar disengaged his tongue and nuzzled up against the thing. It was skittish, but when he was very, very gentle and rubbed up against it very carefully, the most amazing thing happened!

A thrill went over all his skin and his hair actually stood on end. The thing obviously liked this treatment, too, because when he did it just right, it clung to him delicately. With great care, Oscar nosed the object back to a shady spot by his log, and curled up with it, to sleep. Oscar and the thing lived together, day after day. He liked the way it made him more graceful and tentative in his movements, and its reassuring scarlet glow in the sunshine. Sometimes, as he was lying next to it, he imagined the whole world was like his object, smooth and bouncy and charged with lightness. It made him very happy.

Ending 1: Eventually, so slowly Oscar didn't notice until it must have been going on for some time, the thing began to shrink in on itself. Its beautiful color began to dim and darken. Soon, it became wrinkled and soft, and no matter how carefully Oscar massaged it, it would not cling to him. In the end, it was completely deflated. Oscar cried for three days straight, but nothing changed. He buried it under the shadiest end of his log, and thought of it often.

The End. Or...

Ending 2: As Oscar and the thing were napping one day, a sudden windstorm came up and carried the object away. Oscar woke just in time to see it skidding across the horizon, presumably to its natural home. He often dreamt of his dear object's native country, where the hills were covered with delicate, bouncing shapes in every size and color, and where the only sound was a gentle squeaking as they jostled up against one another.

The End. Or...

Ending 3: One day, the thing bumped against a thorny plant that grew up from a crack in the ground. "Be careful!" Oscar cried, but it was too late. There was a horrid, sickening bang, and then nothing but a limp red scrap remained where once the object had been. In despair, Oscar flung himself upon the thorns as well, but they only pricked and scraped him. He realized he would have to go on alone.

Vowing to be as resiliant and kind as his object had always seemed, he dedicated himself to monasticism. He became the best-respected monk at his monastery, where he was well known for his gentle, delicate ways. Late in his life, he founded a controversial order known (in later years) as the Order of the Balloon. Though he was excommunicated on three separate occasions, it never seemed to disrupt his serenity. On his deathbed, he was heard to say, "Ah, helium," and witnesses reported that he smelled of balloons for thirty days following. Most Balloonists hold him to be a saint, and he is honored on all occasions featuring balloons of any sort, including readings of The Twenty-One Balloons and the Macy's Parade.

The End.