The Playground
Perhaps you're taking a walk, or maybe you just woke up, or, perhaps, you were running from your parents and stumbled upon it. Either way, you find yourself at a park - a huge, elegant playground sprawls over wood chips and a swing set gently twists in the breeze nearby. A playroom is in a building next to it in case of rain and there's any toy a child could hope for.
Please, no characters older than sixteen.
Engel pulled his thin, moth-eaten jacket around him as snow fell about his person, boots slipping on the ice that coated the cobbled road. His lips were blue and he shivered in the freezing weather. His pace was slowly beginning to get less determined and confident as warmth was leeched from his body.
He stumbled over to the bench and sat down, feeling himself begin to go numb. He just wanted to close his eyes. . .
No. He knew what happened to people who went asleep in the cold and never woke up.
Maybe just for a moment...?
~**~
The blond boy rolled over and promptly fell off the bench, starting as he hit the ground and sitting up abruptly in the green grass. He was sweating from the heat exuding from the golden sun high above and blinked in surprise - where was the storm?
He glanced around to find himself sitting on the edge of a large structure with tubes made of a material he couldn't identify. It was brightly colored, though, and strangely appealing. He shrugged off his coat and stood.
Spoiler
Description: A boy of thirteen years, with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes. He's obviously of northern blood and he's wearing ratty, hand-me-down clothes. He's very gaunt and pale, even unnaturally so.
