There is nobody waiting for me back home.
If I accepted it, maybe I would come to terms with myself. If I adopted it as part of me, maybe my eyes would stop clouding with the memory. And if I sewed it into my chest, maybe it would scar and the pain would disappear.
A swing sways weakly in the empty park. Benches sit deserted. Once-vibrant flowers now lie faded, like pale stains left by time. Dry leaves cover the ground, creaking beneath my steps. Earth stretches out in washed-out hues, as though the sun has drained every trace of color from it. No children run here and no laughter ever reaches my ears. The swing keeps moving back and forth, with no small hands ever closing around it.
“Catch me if you can!” I chuckled wildly. My voice echoed through the entire park as I broke into a sprint. I could feel them behind me. The faint shuffle of their footsteps grew louder with every second, and my heart beat harder and harder. I ran faster. My feet struck the soft ground in quick, heavy rhythm. I couldn’t fall now. The slide was only a few meters away, its towering frame calling out to me, but I veered sharply, trying to lose them.
Around the merry-go-round I circle, my heart thrumming in time with the rhythm of my feet. I glance back quickly. The swing set swayed in the distance, its chains clinking in the breeze. I imagine I can almost feel their breath on my neck and the rush of adrenaline of being pursued. Their footsteps were getting closer now. My legs dart behind the slide. I barely remember how long I had been climbing up and tumbling down. My hands are dirty and sticky. Sweat clings my hair to my neck. The blood on my right knee has already dried.
Through the corner of my eye, a figure moved. A blur of people coming and going. Some quick, others slow, dragging their feet weighed down by the heat. But I recognize this one. Their legs are the first thing I see. The rest of them wavers, but I know them.
The ground was hot beneath my bare soles as I ran toward them. I am little, too little to reach anything but the hem of their shirt, so I grab hold, tugging with all my insistence.
“Play with me, play with me!” I scream.
They turn and their hand grabs mine. For a moment, I think maybe this time someone will stay and play with me. It is nothing but a fleeting thought.
My wrist snaps. A loud crack goes straight to my teeth. I try to scream, but the air gets stuck in my throat. They don’t let go. Their grip just gets tighter, squeezing the broken bone to see how much it takes to ruin me. Everywhere they touch feels on fire. Blood pools under my skin, hot and throbbing. My vision goes blurry.
When they finally let go, they just vanish. I hit the floor on my knees, dizzy, pulling my wrecked wrist against my chest to stop the shaking. I can't stop crying. The tears are freezing cold, and my cheeks burn raw.
“Will someone play with me, please?” The scream rips from my throat so hard I feel my vocal cords snap. It tastes like iron as blood fills my mouth. I look around the empty space, waiting. No one answers.
The playground is completely empty, but I am still running in circles. No one is coming to play tag or push me on the swings. The world is just empty now.
The other kids are gone, and everything is gone with them.
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