008: The swing.

Annie ran to the swing and sat down on the rotting plank. She pushed backwards with her feet, digging into the dust and muddying her immaculate white sandals and dainty white socks before lifting her feet and swinging forward.

Mo watched Annie from under the decking. She scowled in the darkness. She had never owned socks that white. Never owned any socks that were new, as far as she could remember. All of her socks were hand-me-downs from Rick, her brother. The faded cord dungarees and striped t-shirt she wore had been Rick’s too.

She watched as Annie swung to and fro, her pigtails floating in the wind.

Mo pushed her fingers into the damp mud. Afterwards, when her mother asked her, screamed at her, “What got into you Maureen Victoria Chapman? What were you thinking?!”, she couldn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she had been thinking anything at all.

Annie was swinging in perfect rhythm now, her beautiful blue dress billowing neatly as she cut through the air.

It was like a dream, Mo remembered later. The way her fists had clenched, scraping up handfuls of dirt.

@tom_cornfoot is a writer, designer, and illustrator. He’s spent over 30 years carefully developing a style of handwriting that’s almost illegible, defending his collection of old copies of Playboy and never getting around to learning to play the guitar.

The 100 stories in this collection are plucked from the air, like everything else. There’s no consistent link or thread, unless of course you find one, in which case, it was entirely planned that way.

Words and pictures © 2023 Tom Cornfoot