Backdated to late April.
Word Count: 587
It was a Monday in April, a day after heavy rain. The pavement was still damp in spots, the soil mushy, the sky a bit overcast, but those clouds were thin and harmless.
From the subway station, Énna walked eight blocks to his neighborhood, then another five to the playground.
He stopped at the gate. One hand perched atop the black steel of the fence; the other clutched the strap of his dance bag to his shoulder. A soft breeze blew, rustling a few wisps of hair exertion had loosened from his bun.
Past the slide and beyond the swings, through another gate on the opposite side of the enclosure, Énna could see an opening in the treeline. A smooth line of asphalt disappeared among the trees. From memory, Énna knew that it wound through the local area to join another path about a mile away, which led further on to a small lake.
His grip tightened. Énna swallowed and tore his gaze away, eyes shifting around the familiar playground — from the swings, to the balance beam, to the monkey bars. A few kids still ran about, their parents chatting or keeping to themselves on a smattering of benches. Mia from next door went hurtling down the slide with a shriek of delight. Her mother offered an easygoing wave. Énna returned it, but made no move to strike up a conversation.
Laughter split through the air from out of sight. Énna spied a group of girls a little older than him through the gaps in the trees, following the greenway at a sedate pace. They giggled and gossiped without a care in the world. Énna watched them until they were gone, then looked elsewhere. A boy he didn’t recognize jumped from one of the swings. A girl from down the street hid beneath the playset from which three different slides sprouted, lining up a pile of rocks she must have collected through the fence.
Past the playground, and the trees, and the houses which lined these familiar streets, the last light of evening lit the sky. A few birds chirped, then fluttered away. A squirrel scampered down the sidewalk, then dashed up a tree. Music drifted on the air from someone’s phone. This part of the city was peaceful at twilight, almost idyllic.
Énna thought there was something sinister about it — that life could seem so routine, almost perfect, only to change in an instant.
A car idled nearby. Another shift in the breeze carried the scent of something cooking; one of the neighbors must be taking advantage of the nice weather by using their grill. The flowers on Énna’s side of the fence were just beginning to bud. Pink, by the looks of it. Peonies, maybe.
Daddy would’ve known.
Someone walked by with their dog, a black lab that sniffed and wagged its tail at Énna, but continued on with only slight encouragement. Énna watched until dog and owner were out of sight, then turned back to the playground.
Mia went down the slide again. She jumped off and clambered back up the stairs, too anxious to wait for the kids in front of her. Her mother stood and began a lecture on taking one’s turn.
From the path beyond the swings, Énna heard a pair of feet against the pavement. He watched a jogger through the trees and spied a swaying ponytail before the figure disappeared around a bend.
Énna’s knuckles went white around the fence.
He forced himself to let go and walk away.
