Skipping Stones, Skipping Dreams

Skipping Stones, Skipping Dreams

By Daron Thompson

Lisa McKenna never skipped fast enough to escape the noise—the shouting, the sirens, the sound of her world crumbling around her. Each time the skipping rope slapped against the cracked pavement, she felt a brief flicker of peace, but it was fleeting. As the sun barely peeked over the horizon that morning, Lisa stood outside her apartment in the empty lot. The streets were quiet now, eerily so, but Lisa knew the silence well. It was the kind of silence that settled before something bad happened.

Her sneakers, scuffed and torn at the edges, hit the ground in rhythm with the skipping rope, but even that felt off. She couldn’t find her rhythm anymore, not since Tia died.

“Lisa, what are you doing out here so early?” her mother’s voice cut through the stillness.

Shanice McKenna leaned in the doorway, her hair tied back in a messy bun, dark circles under her eyes betraying the exhaustion that clung to her every movement. Lisa stopped skipping and looked at her mother, who barely had the energy to acknowledge her anymore. Working two jobs had drained Shanice of the warmth that Lisa used to cling to. Now, there was only the hollow shell of a woman Lisa barely recognized.

“Just skipping,” Lisa muttered, staring down at her sneakers.

Shanice nodded weakly, rubbing her forehead as if to push away a headache. “Alright. Don’t stay out too long. You know how it gets around here.” Her words were flat, emotionless.

Lisa watched her mother disappear back into the dim apartment, the door clicking shut behind her. She stood still for a moment, the rope hanging loose in her hands, then sighed and shoved it into her backpack. The skipping didn’t help anymore. Not after Tia.

Tia Simmons had been her best friend, her sister in spirit. The two had spent countless afternoons together, skipping rope in this very lot, laughing and dreaming about the lives they’d live when they finally escaped this neighborhood. Tia had always believed they would make it out—out of the violence, the poverty, the endless cycle of fear that held them both captive.

But then Tia was gone. One bullet had taken her life. Lisa had watched, frozen in shock, as Tia fell to the ground. The sound of the shot had been swallowed by the noise of the street, and by the time Lisa realized what had happened, Tia was already lying in a pool of blood. The sirens blared in the distance, but they were too late.

Nothing had been the same since that day. Lisa had gone to Tia’s funeral, surrounded by people who hadn’t known her as Lisa had. Strangers cried over Tia, but Lisa had felt nothing. It was as if the world had become numb to her. She couldn’t shake the image of Tia lying there, her life stolen away in an instant.

Now, every time Lisa picked up the skipping rope, all she could think about was how she and Tia used to jump together, competing to see who could skip the fastest, the longest. But that was all gone now, and the skipping rope felt heavier in her hands each time she touched it.

The streets were waking up as Lisa headed to school, her feet dragging along the cracked pavement. She kept her head down, her eyes fixed on the sidewalk, watching as the familiar cracks seemed to stretch further with each step. The buildings on either side of her loomed, their windows boarded up or shattered, the remnants of a neighborhood long abandoned by hope.

Lisa didn’t rush to school anymore. What was the point? Her teachers didn’t expect much from her these days. She was just another quiet kid in the back of the classroom, slipping through the cracks like so many before her.

At school, Mr. Hamilton, her teacher, barely looked up when she entered the room. She slid into her seat at the back, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The laughter and chatter of her classmates felt distant, like a language she no longer understood. Once, she had been a part of it, laughing with Tia, passing notes in class. Now, she was invisible.

Mr. Hamilton handed out a worksheet and paused at her desk, his brow furrowing slightly. He always lingered a little longer with her, like he was trying to figure her out. But Lisa knew there was nothing he could do. He was part of a system that didn’t care about kids like her, kids who had already lost too much.

The day dragged on, each minute blending into the next. When the final bell rang, Lisa didn’t head straight home. Instead, she found herself wandering back to the park where she and Tia used to spend their afternoons. The swings creaked in the wind, the rusty chains groaning with each sway. Lisa sat on one of the swings, her feet barely touching the ground as she stared out at the empty park. The same park that had once been filled with their laughter now felt desolate.

In the distance, she could hear the sounds of the city—car horns, a distant shout, the hum of life going on without her. Lisa pulled the skipping rope from her backpack and held it loosely in her hands. The frayed ends dangled, worn from years of use. It had been hers and Tia’s favorite toy. Now, it was just a reminder of everything she’d lost.

She stood up slowly, her legs shaky beneath her, and walked over to the swingset. Her fingers fumbled as she tied one end of the skipping rope to the top bar, her hands trembling as she worked. The wind picked up, rustling her braids, carrying with it the faint smell of rain.

Lisa glanced up at the sky, gray and heavy, like it was about to fall on top of her. The world felt too big, too heavy. Her breath caught in her throat as she tied the other end of the rope around her neck. The skipping rope, once a symbol of joy and freedom, had become something else entirely.

Her feet barely touched the ground now. She could hear the wind howling through the empty park, the sound of the swings creaking behind her. The weight of the world pressed down on her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. She felt like she was drowning, but there was no water, just the suffocating silence of the park.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The wind blew through the park, rustling the leaves of the few trees that remained. The swings continued to sway, their chains creaking with each gust of wind. Lisa’s sneakers, worn and dirty, hung just above the ground, swaying gently with the movement of the rope. The frayed ends fluttered in the breeze, brushing against the metal bar of the swingset.

The park was quiet now, the sounds of the city fading into the distance. The world moved on, unaware of the life that had been lost, unaware of the girl who had been left behind.

Shanice McKenna came home late that evening, her body aching from another long shift. She barely noticed how dark the apartment was as she threw her keys on the table and collapsed onto the couch. She’d check on Lisa in a few minutes, she told herself. Just a few minutes to rest her eyes.

But when she woke up, the apartment was still too quiet.

Shanice frowned, rubbing her eyes as she got up. “Lisa?” she called out, her voice hoarse from exhaustion. No response. The apartment felt too empty, the silence suffocating.

She checked Lisa’s room, but it was empty. The bed was untouched, the backpack missing. Panic began to rise in Shanice’s chest as she rushed to the front door, throwing it open and stepping into the night.

The park was empty when Shanice arrived, the streetlights casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps as she ran toward the swingset, her heart pounding in her chest.

And then she saw it.

Lisa’s sneakers, swaying gently in the wind, just above the ground. The skipping rope, tied tightly around the metal bar of the swingset, held her lifeless body in the air.

Shanice fell to her knees, her screams echoing through the empty park.