Wednesday’s Written

I’m in a weird mood. This came out

The Swing
Across the street there’s a park. At the park there’s a swing. We’ll there are actually 2 swings, but I only fit in one of them now. I swing. Pump legs. Lean back. And over again. I’m moving. Just not forward. You can hear the rumblings of cars off in the distance. The faint exuberance of civilization. They rarely make it this far away though. 

Back and forth. 

It would feel like flying if not for the reminder of your hands clutching the icy cold chains on the midsummers evening. Should I jump? Really fly? Even if only for a moment. But it’s dark and it would be hard to see the ground before you hit. 

I just stop. 

Quarter mile to my right is my house. Quarter mile to the left is a lake. They’re really not dissimilar. One seems safe. Carefree. It feels like it could offer the security that once you walk inside you’ll never have to worry about anything again. The other used to be that way. 

Then I grew up. 

All around lightning bugs flash like I wish the neurons in my brain would because I need an idea. An engine is getting louder. It won’t make it this far out. Yet it rumbles. Back and forth the noise of the car versus its echo. The headlights flare. Full stare down. Pools of light you could drown in. They turn into the lot at the bottom of the hill. 2 kids. Getting high. Making out. Funny, all I can think is what a waste of time. They’re probably thinking this is fun. 

Who has the brighter future? 

It’s interesting that I sit here thinking about life as it’s the same spot I realized we all have the power to both give and take it. I get a whiff of shit. 

It’s not mine. 

Well, I guess it is now. I must have stepped in it. My legs are asleep. So again I swing. The animals in hiding quickly scurry at the rattle of the chains. In the darkness I didn’t even know they were there. Pump legs. Lean back. Brake lights. The kids leave back the way they came. A quick trip to the doldrums and they split back to the glitz and the humdrum of civilization. And I swing. Higher. A rustle. A thud. An acorn fell from a tree next to me. 

Higher. A whimper. A wolf? 

Higher. A scream. Piercing. Unidentified. 

Higher. A scratch. A snarl. A cacophony of disorienting sounds until nothing.

Heart stopped. 

Baited breath. 

Silence.

The sound of a swing, creaking in the midsummer’s night breeze. 

Back and forth 

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