Micro fiction by Pam Avoledo

The World’s Largest Rubber Band Ball

Laura fishes rubber bands out of  drawers and steals them from counters of the stores. She likes the faded ones best, likes how they stretch. She wraps them  for hours and hours in her backyard. The rubber band ball grows past the fence.  She pushes and pulls the rubber band against her skin, waiting for the snap and adds another strand. 

The rubber band ball is at least a ton, she estimates. She rolls it on her trailer into town at the mayor’s request. The mayor promises she can visit it whenever she wants. She smiles with the mayor  in a photo for the newspaper and stands with it at the city fair, helping children choose their favorite color and reach as high as they can. She pushes and pulls the rubber band against her skin, waiting for the snap and adds another strand. 

The giant rubber band ball, with its rainbow stripes, sits on its metal pedestal right off the highway. There’s a parade every year on the last weekend of July. People dress as jars, spoon holders and tripods. A plaque boasts the world record. The high school band marches on the main street, playing a song dedicated to it as Laura stands by her creation, opening the festival. She pushes and pulls the rubber band against her skin, waiting for the snap and adds another strand.