The Playground

I had just picked up my daughter from school and she wanted to go to the playground. I explained to her that we had to go to the supermarket, that it was late. 

She didn't want to hear it. 

"I wanna go t'the playground!" she said. 

"We have to go to the supermarket." 

"That's not fair!" 

"I think it's very fair." 

She started to cry. I looked to my wife, screwing up my mouth up and shaking my head. 

Then crazy things entered my mind. The car felt as though it was shaking a little more than it did already. I pictured us broken down on the side of the road. 

Bad thoughts invaded, evil premonitions; blood leaking from my wife's eyes. I began choking on the air. Grabbing my throat and rear-ending the car in front of us. 

I imagined the sky darkening, frothy clouds boiling, extending out and covering the crimson sky. Blood raining down to the earth. 

I gripped the wheel, held my breath. 

Then I opened my eyes and looked into the rear-view mirror. 

My daughter sat in her toddler chair, smiling. Nodding once. 

"Can we go to the playground?"  


THE END

William Marchese
Copyright

Comments

Anjela C. said…
I enjoyed this story! You obviously have experience dealing with wily toddlers. Well done.

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