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On a playground full of people, I’m all alone. Groups have formed by the gate, along the fence and against the wall. I scan each one slowly as I walk by, looking for a friendly face, but they close up as I approach. In their groups they’re comfortable with existing acquaintances, but unwilling to accept those they don’t know. I come to a stop beneath a tree that’s seen a thousand new faces here before and will see thousands more in years to come when we’ve long since moved on. Snippets of conversation are heard, questions about me, who I am, what I’m doing. If they were directed at me I’d happily answer, but that’s not the way it’s done around here.
A conker drops from the tree bouncing a metre or so away. Eyes turn towards me as a child run past and grabs it. If I was faster it could have been mine, but I’m sure that would have been frowned upon. I move away to stand by the wall, I don’t want to be remembered on my first time here as the one who was hit on the head by a conker.
Again I look around. I glimpse into their eyes for a sign inviting me to talk. Someone must feel the same. Just a smile would do; some kind of acknowledgement that they know, that they feel the same. We are here for the same reason, after all.
I glance at my watch, the digital face frozen, the seconds refusing to pass. I put my hands in my pockets and pick a spot on the floor to stare at, throwing occasional glances to the door.
Eventually I see blurred movement behind the frosted glass. It is pushed open and out comes the teacher, stepping aside and holding the door. From inside a procession of children march out and I see a small hand waving at me; my darling daughter, with a smile that’s just for me. As she runs towards me with her arms open I forget about the cliquey habits of the other parents. She cries “Daddy” and I cast my arms around her and hold her tight.
When I look around again the faces have changed. Holding their own children they give a knowing nod, and as we walk towards the gate one even says “so you’re Malibu’s Dad.”
I give a smile that says I’m ever so proud that I am.
A conker drops from the tree bouncing a metre or so away. Eyes turn towards me as a child run past and grabs it. If I was faster it could have been mine, but I’m sure that would have been frowned upon. I move away to stand by the wall, I don’t want to be remembered on my first time here as the one who was hit on the head by a conker.
Again I look around. I glimpse into their eyes for a sign inviting me to talk. Someone must feel the same. Just a smile would do; some kind of acknowledgement that they know, that they feel the same. We are here for the same reason, after all.
I glance at my watch, the digital face frozen, the seconds refusing to pass. I put my hands in my pockets and pick a spot on the floor to stare at, throwing occasional glances to the door.
Eventually I see blurred movement behind the frosted glass. It is pushed open and out comes the teacher, stepping aside and holding the door. From inside a procession of children march out and I see a small hand waving at me; my darling daughter, with a smile that’s just for me. As she runs towards me with her arms open I forget about the cliquey habits of the other parents. She cries “Daddy” and I cast my arms around her and hold her tight.
When I look around again the faces have changed. Holding their own children they give a knowing nod, and as we walk towards the gate one even says “so you’re Malibu’s Dad.”
I give a smile that says I’m ever so proud that I am.
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For a story that simply composed, it was good to see such an unexpected twist. Really captured the style there.
Wow. That was really good.
Short and sweet. Very nice once again, Meka.
all these stories have inspired me to write one.
I've written a paragraph so far, and I'll finish it during my more creative moods.
I hope you can cast your critical eye over it when I put it on here.
I've written a paragraph so far, and I'll finish it during my more creative moods.
I hope you can cast your critical eye over it when I put it on here.
Nicely worked Meka, and pretty much all true, am I right?
On a playground full of people, I’m all alone. Groups have formed by the gate, along the fence and against the wall. I scan each one slowly as I walk by, looking for a friendly face, but they close up as I approach. In their groups they’re comfortable with existing acquaintances, but unwilling to accept those they don’t know. I come to a stop beneath a tree that’s seen a thousand new faces here before and will see thousands more in years to come when we’ve long since moved on. Snippets of conversation are heard, questions about me, who I am, what I’m doing. If they were directed at me I’d happily answer, but that’s not the way it’s done around here.
A conker drops from the tree bouncing a metre or so away. Eyes turn towards me as a child run past and grabs it. If I was faster it could have been mine, but I’m sure that would have been frowned upon. I move away to stand by the wall, I don’t want to be remembered on my first time here as the one who was hit on the head by a conker.
Again I look around. I glimpse into their eyes for a sign inviting me to talk. Someone must feel the same. Just a smile would do; some kind of acknowledgement that they know, that they feel the same. We are here for the same reason, after all.
I glance at my watch, the digital face frozen, the seconds refusing to pass. I put my hands in my pockets and pick a spot on the floor to stare at, throwing occasional glances to the door.
Eventually I see blurred movement behind the frosted glass. It is pushed open and out comes the teacher, stepping aside and holding the door. From inside a procession of children march out and I see a small hand waving at me; my darling daughter, with a smile that’s just for me. As she runs towards me with her arms open I forget about the cliquey habits of the other parents. She cries “Daddy” and I cast my arms around her and hold her tight.
When I look around again the faces have changed. Holding their own children they give a knowing nod, and as we walk towards the gate one even says “so you’re Malibu’s Dad.”
I give a smile that says I’m ever so proud that I am.
A conker drops from the tree bouncing a metre or so away. Eyes turn towards me as a child run past and grabs it. If I was faster it could have been mine, but I’m sure that would have been frowned upon. I move away to stand by the wall, I don’t want to be remembered on my first time here as the one who was hit on the head by a conker.
Again I look around. I glimpse into their eyes for a sign inviting me to talk. Someone must feel the same. Just a smile would do; some kind of acknowledgement that they know, that they feel the same. We are here for the same reason, after all.
I glance at my watch, the digital face frozen, the seconds refusing to pass. I put my hands in my pockets and pick a spot on the floor to stare at, throwing occasional glances to the door.
Eventually I see blurred movement behind the frosted glass. It is pushed open and out comes the teacher, stepping aside and holding the door. From inside a procession of children march out and I see a small hand waving at me; my darling daughter, with a smile that’s just for me. As she runs towards me with her arms open I forget about the cliquey habits of the other parents. She cries “Daddy” and I cast my arms around her and hold her tight.
When I look around again the faces have changed. Holding their own children they give a knowing nod, and as we walk towards the gate one even says “so you’re Malibu’s Dad.”
I give a smile that says I’m ever so proud that I am.
Page: