The playground stands in the corner of field riddled with craters, casting a long shadow from the setting sun. The

once-red slide flakes rust with every breath of wind. Swing chains jangle. The blood red bark rattles, a great beast

shaking off sleep. The old jungle gym groans as the wind leans on it. The wind pushes harder, as through trying to tear

pieces off. 

The playground stands. Around the field, the sinking sun makes holes in the field, ponds of darkness. The craters have

dirt piled around the sides, making tiny walls. Derelict houses squat around the field, like discarded toys. There are

holes in roofs and walls, signposts of the destruction inside. They are long deserted, by anyone with the means to

leave. Many people were left. Abandoned to their fate, with no means of surviving.

At first people had cried. Screamed. Now, the town echoes with unsaid goodbyes. The silence chokes out any sounds,

forcing it into submission. A dog forages through trash, looking for any scrap of food. It makes no noise, as though

afraid it would attract the darkness, and be claimed like so many others.

The playground stands. Somehow it had resisted the destruction. While around it people had degraded into animals,

the playground had stood. It was an ancient reminder of a better time. Shells had fallen on the field, firing dirt into

the air. Houses burnt after everything worth taking, or worth eating had been taken. Now, there was nothing. People

were desperate.

Men had turned on men. Children abandoned, families destroyed. 

The playground stands. At first, people had buried the dead, the ones lucky enough to die suddenly. Graves had

appeared on the field, like weeds spreading over the ground. But then, as more had died, they were left. Bodies had

lain in the street, ribs stretching pale skin. The ravages of starvation had been merciless. It had stalked the streets and

houses, taking many by the hand. Others had given in to their hunger. After that, burying the bodies hadn’t been a

problem.

The playground stands. Today, bright, young eyes stare intently at the lifeless slide. Bare feet, coated with grime and

mud, pad towards the playground. The footsteps speed up as they approach the swings. By the time they reach them,

they are moving at a full sprint. The thin chest draws rattling breaths. The child reaches out. Grabs the chain. Sits in

the cracking rubber. A smile plays on his lips. He pushes back, and feels the wind rush as he swings forward, wrapped

in memory.

The playground stands.