Writing Prompt

I was at the playground
I went to the water fountain

To see if there were coins in it

Slides, hot from the sun. Wood chips allover, looking to jump in my socks at every buoyant step and hapless fall. The beginnings of the love for thrill, as I kick up to harder to get go fast on the swing. Eventually someone's going to dare me to jump.

Tubes in a Guam sun;
looms of adult gauls watch,
Monkey bars, juvenile cell,
And swings over poppies,
Swung to the sun,
Roped.

The playground was famous for it's magnificent swings. Swings built on experimental axis design, which would in theory allow one to loop over the frame forever in perpetual motiuon. Of course no child had yet accomplished this feat, the race was on.

>>9633138
During the war, the technology had been used in jet planes. Rather than allow the company to go bankrupt in the postwar correction, the government ordered every swing in the country replaced-even those on private property.

>>9633151
After the war subsided, one found that the chain swings returned to playground. But given the duration of the war and the violence which came in its wake, the chain swings also served as a solemn reminder of the past battles which came to encompass the eggshell fragility surrounding the quiet that is 'peacetime.' A dark, more serious presence loomed about the swingset, replacing the laughter and gaiety of children's games with the memory of death and gulags. The swing sets themselves hung like hanged men, yielding to the breeze like silent wind-chimes on a breeze across the tundra.

Children laugh like birds chirp or insects buzz. They run around, wood mulch flying from their kicks, the summer sun beats down on the earth and their tiny bodies glisten with sweat. He sits alone on a bench. The day at the office was long and boring, he had come home and his son wanted him to take him to the park. He loves his son. Every morning he forces himself out of bed. Eat breakfast. Take your medicine. Get dressed. Brush your hair, brush your teeth, brush the weariness from your mind. He does it for his son. Morning cars inch slowly through jammed parkways. He endures it for his son. An arrogant boss gives him more work than he' comfortable doing. He does it all for his son. It's all worth it when he comes home in the afternoon, walks through the door, and hears the soft footsteps running through his home to be greeted by the little boy who is excited to see him. He frees himself from his choking uniform and wears something comfortable for the weather.
He sits alone on the bench, watching his son play with other children. Sometimes he misses being a kid. The carefree days, no work, no stress, no depression. Just waiting for the next day to play. The epitome of innocence. He wishes for his childhood again, his youth. Just one more chance to be a kid again.
His son runs up to him, panting.
"Hey papa, wanna come play with me?"
He smiles.
"Of course, bud."

File: Screen shot 2017-05-13 at 2.20.22 PM.png (39KB, 191x209px) Image search: [Google]

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>>9633004
Why did they burn down
all my old playgrounds?

>>9633004
once, in a playground, when i was a child
on a warm sunny day so balmy and mild
she was a classmate called anna
i had an adjustable spanner
as the blood started to flow i smiled

Seeing the children in the playground the old weird loner had a boner.

>>9633082
And to learn how not to drown

Johnny was gearing up to kick the ball into the Sun. Ricky was on the mound, rolling the red rubber round thing down the grassy lane to in bowling ball fashion. Johnny just had to get the timing right and then he'd show them all why he shouldn't get picked last on teams every time. He was cocked in a forward squat, knees bent with in front of the other. Waiting for the perfect time to burst into throttle. His eye's followed the ball wavering down, moving an inch this way and an inch that way from the dirt clumps vying to take over is trajectory. Now. He flung forward fast than his body could keep up. He was a gaggle of limbs, spinning forward and forward. A scream of glee and aggression mounting the back of his throat. One swift kick and he'd be the king of kickball. He jacked back his leg and gave the ball all the hell he could muster. He'd slipped and fallen on his ass again.

>>9633004
I have memories of playgrounds being infested with brats. Now, when I go back to those playgrounds, they are now infested with less threatening creatures: wasps.

It was 20 degrees outside. On the playground, I lept from the lincolin-log style bridge to grasp the monkey bars.
I opened my eyes and saw the cloudy grey sky.

>>9633004
Run!
Skip!
Hopnojumpno

Sure mum as you say

Run!
Swing!
Climb!
Branchbybranchbybranch

Mum I said

CRACK

Black.

Murder in the Playground.

Summer.
I was sweating under my school uniform and the messy rucksack on my shoulders didn't help either. The school day was over and I had just arrived at the local playground I always visited. There was Josh, one of the cool kids from school hanging out with some older guys. They all looked really cool. We said 'hi' and we hanged out. The older kids stopped trying to talk to me after they got bored of my one word answers, so they said they'd take me somewhere. I didn't know my local area so well, I wasn't an outgoing kid.

We didn't travel far until we got there, just a few minutes of walking, but hell I had no idea how I was or how I got there (I wasn't a very smart kid either). It was this open field, neglected with patches of dirt, and under watered grass - Not somewhere I would enjoy going except for the rudimentary rope swing and rusty climbing bars in the corner. The cool kids showed me the rope swing, a piece of hardware rope with a metal bar on the end, and they took it in turns to jump on. I was now part of their pecking order so I had to wait to go last, but it was fun and I loved it.

Things were going well, I was being autistic and Josh gave me a few moments of talking bouts before he went back to his cool kids, that is until Frederick was seen in the distance. "shh!" "there he is" "hide" were fired back and forth in hushed tones between all the kids, even Josh! We all ran into the bushes and waited for him to get a little closer. This was fun, I thought to myself as well all stared intently at our to-be victim walk by. He had a funny walk where he'd sort of bounce, you could immediately tell from intuition this kid was one of the dorks from school. He probably had a runny nose and was bad at sports.

Frederick was now very close to us, still completely unaware of what was about to go down. So was I, I was just there for the ride. "Get him!" They all ran and I followed with a smile on my face "Class warsss!" they kids shouted as they charged at him. I realised at this point that this was all related to an on going war between two classes at school. We younger kids would watch the two classes battle each other with firsts, sticks and stones as they fought for no land or objective but simply for the purpose of fighting. They revelled in ambushing members of the opposite class and so this was what was going down now.

They surround Frederick who didn't look like he could stand his ground 1 on 1 let alone 7 on 1 (including me). He got punched and fell to the floor where he was immediately surrounded in 360 degrees and kicked repeatedly as he scream out in pain. Nothing was off limits, they were going for his head even! Something I had never seen before. The image still haunts me to this day, and boy crying with his eyes close, visible streams of tears rolling down his cheeks and trainers bouncing off his head. Poor kid, I thought. One of the boys ran off to get a metal pole and smJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

if you would just let me
define my own boundaries
you would not have to
worry about grandsons