Everything is going on plan

Written in response to: Set your story in a kids’ playground, or at a roundabout.... view prompt


Contemporary Speculative Sad

Dark blots, green blots, brothers legs, sun burst. Dark blots, green blots, brothers legs, sun burst. I almost feel a sick.

Dark windows blots, green tree blots, brothers bare kneecaps, bright sun flash. The sun is so bright it makes red spots on things around me: on dark shadowed windows of our five-store building number 43, then on the dark openings of the neighborhood building number 45, then on lush trees of the park, on the blue sky over the road to the city and when again – boom. Sun beams like shells are bursting in my eyes. The day is coming to the end, the hues of colors become more hot and bloody.

I'm trying to take a glance on the nearby subjects: flower beds besides the entering – how do they stand?, then dirty court road, then dirty ambulance in front of neighborhood distorted building, the lane to the park, the old oak with the broken branch, a bicyclist, and again my brothers legs. I can't see the open field to the west because of bright summer sun but I know it's gold with heavy wheat spikes.

Sometimes I'm shutting my eyes and do imagine surroundings. I was growing here and there were always the same in summer: our court full of children, the sound of game. I loved this time – no school, no responsibility, just fun. And everything was settled well with new discoveries, new friends, new dreams. The sun pours my shut eyes with red light, then take a rest. Again pours eyes with rainbow patterns. My head is stays still and at the same time my head is whirling.

I have opened my eyes. Dark blots of the windows of our house is becoming more dark. I see just one lighted window on third of the next entrance – the uncle and an aunt haven't left yet. This year the aunt has planted mallows on the flower bed – they look like sword lily in the fall but much bigger. Two windows on the first glaring blue with TV reflecting on the walls. The same tint of blue the ambulance flashes it's lazy rotating lights. People carefully take into the car stretches with the old woman. She doesn't moan anymore, maybe passed out. The lane to the park covered with black dust and rubbles. The cyclist is maneuvering around accurately. It's a girl – I just might see! Her strong tanned legs are peddling the way to our court. It seems to me she has something on the rear trunk. The trees in the park are stirring leaves lightly behind her. It's sad we don't allow any more to have a rest there. That's not really boring my brother. His kneecaps and foots and ankles are all in scratches, he doesn't care about his legs at all. My bro with his friends likes to run through the wheat field to the river these days. And nobody could stop them – adults have so much care on their shoulders this summer. Bright eye of the star looks again into mine and has made another red spot on it.

The light in the uncle and aunt's window has turned off. The whole house is sharp contrasting over the sunset scarlet sky. People around the ambulance are soundless smoking cigarettes. Why they are not hurry to the hospital? A girl on her bike has passed empty 45 and is approaching to ours. She did it carefully because somewhere in the dark openings of the neighbor building a faint smoke still visible. The blast has torn the house apart. It looks now like an incomplete LEGO constructor – few blocks are out of places and connections stick out from the carcass. It seems if somebody big enough will go tomorrow and finish the design. But I know that won't happen – tomorrow will again came firefighters with the long ladders and will continue to dismantle the building but not to collect.

The park has changed from an emerald into charming dark green. Last sun lights carve weird patterns on the dense background like disarranged puzzles of big picture of the wheat field. This time I can see the wide of growing harvest. It has the color of fresh baked aromatic wheat bread which was just cut. The fluffy, soft feeling of thin threads of spikes has become the main sense of the field. This is the filling of furry hairs on the arm or a leg when they covered with goose skin.

More people in our house have come home: few windows have switched on, scattered on the face of a building, blue glares has started dances here and there. Next to the entrance the uncle is comforting the aunt – she is sobbing. They both are looking shocked with something. The girl has become a post woman, with her bicycle she is standing near the old pair on her strong legs and trying to look stretched, she is saying something approval to them. All they three make a move to clear the way to the ambulance which turned it's flashes off and starting to the city. The 45 has occur to be not completely empty. Someone risked to stay there at night and the yellow square of a kitchen cuts the darkness of evening air. The window seems to pretend the cozy place with hidden in the dusk clues of destruction of the whole building. The park has turned to conjure the dread fair-tales; the sounds of an owl is hooting in the dark. The sun is almost gone.

My brother patiently takes care of me today. He is a good friend. I'm lying on our court's round-around and he is revolving me again and again. It would be wonderful if I could play by myself but since doctors has amputated my legs I need somebody to ward me. There was maybe just an unfortunate that that shell blasted so near and crippled me. I just have had a new bicycle. It has stayed almost untouched. A new whooping sound burst the hot summer evening – we yet always ready for air raid alert these days. Brother! Please push just one more time again! That's better! Yellow squares, dark forest, star sky over the field. Squares. Forest. Dark. Sky.

July 17, 2022 17:01

You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.


RBE | Illustration — We made a writing app for you | 2023-02

We made a writing app for you

Yes, you! Write. Format. Export for ebook and print. 100% free, always.