This post is part of the Writer Wednesday Blog Hop. For more details of this challenge check out my tab at the top.
This weeks picture:
This weeks words: Wagon, shark, navel, bulb, banana
This weeks story:
Children of the Dust
‘Are you kidding me?’ I mumbled to myself as I chased after the ball yet again. ‘Try and keep it on the pitch guys,’ I called behind me. It seemed that each time it went out of play I had to run further to get it.
The ball had finally rolled to a stop in the shadow of one of the park statues. There were plenty of them dotted around, most of them treated as an extension to the playground with kids climbing all over them. We weren’t supposed to but some of them were just irresistible for the young and adventurous. The favourite when we were young enough was always the horse and wagon, placed down by the lake. It was life-sized and perfect for all of us to climb in the back and pretend we were in the old West. There was even one in the lake itself, the dorsal fin of a shark poking out of the water, but you had to look hard to find it some days. That one had been worn away more than the others.
There was something different about this particular statue though, that made it stand out from the others. It had its own aura about it, which creeped me out every time I came near it. This time was no different, and it gave me the usual flutter of nerves behind my navel. I wanted to run away, head straight back to the others, but I was entranced by the two figures before me. Poised as they were, side by side, running as though away from something or someone. I always thought they looked frightened, like they were trying to escape, but the one time I mentioned it to anyone I was laughed at. I keep my theories to myself now.
‘Children of the dust.’
I was so entranced with the figures, I hadn’t heard anyone on the path and the voice that spoke made me jump. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Children of the dust,’ the old lady repeated, ‘always on the run.’
She was an odd lady, and I couldn’t recall having seen her before. She was pushing a trolley filled with the oddest collection I’d seen. Broken lights bulbs, an odd shoe here and there, hats for winter and summer, crisp packets and banana skins. I looked away in shame as I realised she’d caught me staring. ‘You need to be prepared,’ she said, as if in explanation.
‘Prepared for what?’
‘For the return. You can’t escape the fate of these children, you will be trapped just as they are. Waiting, waiting for nothing.’
I looked again at the statues, and suddenly they seemed much more real than usual. The pain and terror on their faces became all I could look at.
I tried to shake the feeling of dread as I turned and left them, but I was sure the eyes followed me as I raced off to join the others.
Word count: 492