A Little Broken Park

A Short Story

Two boys walked to a park hand in hand. Their skin was the color of a starry night. Their eyes red.

They passed the thunderous clamoring of a multitude of morning women. They passed men working hard on buildings nearby. They continued past other children who ran around in and out of the crowd.

The boys finally reached the park and sat on the broken concrete near the entrance. The park was empty. There was no one there that day. They sat still hand in hand and did not speak. For a brief moment, the January wind came to a standstill. The smell of dust grew heavy in the air. The smaller boy let go of his brother’s hand and went to the center of the park. He peered closer at a broken monument. There was something appealing about the fallen soldier to the boy.

The boy suddenly turned to his brother and ran back. He whispered into to the older brother’s ear, “The white people.”

The older brother grasped his brother’s hand firmly, and without saying a word motioned him to follow.

They found a crumbled building near the park and hid there.

“They are gone.” Said the older brother.

“Can we go back to the park now?” Said the younger brother.

“What for?” The older boy said stoically.

“To wait for mom and dad.”

The wind began to blow fervently again.

The earth rumbled softly, both boys ran out from under the hiding place towards the street. The wails grew louder. People flooded the streets. The boys held each other tight.

“Let’s go to the park!” The little brother pleaded.

“We are safer here, out in the open.”

“But mom, dad.”

“Mom and dad?” The older brother looked down.

“Yes, mom and dad, please?” The younger brother pleaded.

“Let’s wait till this temblor passes, and we’ll return to the park.”