the children saw the shooting star fall into the playground. and though it was past their bedtime they all ran out to find it and find it they did amidst the swings and slides and heaps of shredded pipes and metal that were no longer safe for them to play around. they gather around the lip of the crater and peer down at what has fallen into their little kingdom. they whisper and nudge and point and laugh and cry and one of them steps forward and begins slowly to move toward it. he looks around to see if he has inspired courage in others but they have not followed so he moves forward alone.
at the bottom of the pit is a dark shape that is perfect. it sits in its perfection oblivious because it does not know its perfection. the boy does not know its perfection but he knows that it is not something that should be here in the playground. he reaches out a hand and snaps it back expecting heat unbearable. there is no heat. no smell no warning. he touches it and the pain is awful. the pain fills him up like a balloon stretched to bursting with water. he thinks he shall never be free of the pain that splinters each of his bones into shards the size of a grain of sand and rearranges them to fit some obscure pattern. the pain that asks him simple questions a yes or no will do and the pain nods and writes something down on its clipboard and gives him a sticker for being a nice quiet boy and he draw his hand back from the perfect thing and the absence of pain is wonderful. he cannot help himself. he lays his palm again upon it. the other children watch and begin to creep down to the space. a second child arrives at the perfect thing and touches it with the tip of his forefinger. after a moment he pulls back and touches it again. and again. and the crater fills with children clamouring to renew and escape communion with the perfect thing. and the playground was never so full of joy.
Hey look, it's almost horror. I sat down to write some sci-fi action and this happened!
Created: Feb 15, 2010Document Media