I love sitting in the park, listening to the wind rustle through the tress. If you listen hard enough you can hear a faint whistling sound the tress cry as the wind swoops past them. The grass is a luminous green in this time of year; summer. The grass is slowly prickling into my legs; the grey, thin, two years too small school tights which cling to my skin are doing nothing to stop them. My hands are clasped on my knees, my blackening nails digging into my sweaty palms. My green eyes shift as I look towards the dark metal strong hold of a fence. The black tarmac glowing gently as the sun hits it and in anticipation as child after child’s bare feet run across in excitement. As I open my ears, children’s cry of happiness and fun fill the air around me. I close my eyes the feeling intensifies, the tingle. The crying songs of joy, Imagine being that happy.
A cry louder and filled with a sudden hurt, fear hit me. I widened my eyes; the sun’s rays shrinking my pupils. My vision cleared, I looked for the cause of my disruption of my few seconds of secondhand joy. That’s all it took for me to feel desperate, alone even more than I was when I first came here; was the loving mother of the child. The girl was not yet six, in a small yellow dress with matching shoes and shinning metal buckles. Her blond hair went down to her shoulders, a boy, looking not more than seven; he had pushed the girl over accidentally in eagerness to get to the slide. I knew this because, his eyes were calling for it, had a hungriness for the metal slope that he couldn't hide. The girl was running
slowly, but bravely for her age towards her mother, whose appearance couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else’s child, but
hers. They looked so similar. Her mother’s outspread arms looked like angel wings to me, effortlessly I would have ran towards her myself just to have a few seconds of intimacy with someone, even if they couldn’t understand why.
The little girl ran into the angel’s arms and into heaven, while I flew to hell.
