Publishing the most Innovative Short Stories, Prose, and Flash Fiction
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Eyes Upon the Playground by Michael Giardina - Page 2
Garret walked towards his bed and sat down angrily. He looked around, feeling completely helpless. He needed that connection, he needed Samantha on the other end of the city-or so he presumed her to be, perhaps as a defense, far away from him-to sit down at that desk and unknowingly open the lines of communication. He picked up the red book that was lying upon the floor in the corner of his room. He peeled the golden pages apart. He looked at the intricate Japanese characters, small little pieces of art, floating aimlessly across in front of his eyes. He tried hard to see the story as he had seen the tree, as he had seen the children. He looked hard, trying to predict what was going to happen, trying to find a secret answer hidden amongst the pages. A flicker of light broke his concentration and he looked to his desk. There, on the computer monitor, he saw characters passing across the screen and he quickly raced to his chair and watched. Garret made the connection as quick as he could and began to watch Samantha navigating from page to page. He watched the mail pass through. He read intently and began to write notes down in a little leather notebook. He recorded the time down. He wanted to be able to predict when Samantha would be with him. Days slowly passed and Garret's mind remained filled with the image of Samantha smiling at all the petite children. He began to have dreams of Samantha, dressed as a Shepherd, as a Catcher in The Rye. Each day he made it to the park and Samantha was there without fail. It seemed to Garret that Samantha spent every single hour of every single day in this crowded park. Garret found his body drawn towards the playground and everyday he began to worry more, for what he once thought was an illusion became clearly truth: Samantha was moving closer. Each day, Samantha moved farther and farther away from that leaning tree, slowly edging her way down the small hill towards the children. The closer Samantha got, the farther it seemed her head poked out over his shoulders, as if her eyes, her nose, or some other part of her body were drawn so strongly to the children. One day Garret walked to the playground and saw Samantha standing underneath the monkey bars. There Samantha held her muscular arms out and helped a young boy across the bars. Samantha held the boy up by placing her strong hand underneath the small boy's bottom and applying pressure to keep him floating up in the air, cheering for glee, and making it across each and every one of those bars. The boy ran off happily and, in the moment before Samantha left the playground, Garret thought sure that those dark eyes of hers came to look his way. A smile, a wink, a malevolent glance, Garret couldn't be sure but he felt as if something were shared just then. It was the night after that incident that Garret made a grave discovery. He sifted all night through Samantha's computer, scrounging up conversations, books, songs, anything that could help him get further into the mess. Garret longed for more, he longed to understand Samantha's motivation. He began sifting through every file, methodically analyzing everything he could find, until he came upon one folder he had overlooked. There, hiding beneath layers and layers of files, was a folder entitled: abtc. He watched the letters carefully and repeated to himself: all about the children, all about the children, all about the children. Garret began to grab every file from the folder that he could. He tried to keep the connection open, worrying that at any second the stress of his presence would push the delicate connection too far, that he would lose his opportunity to understand, that Samantha would never sign on again, that she would never again come to the park. The task proved harder than he imagined, for within that folder were hundreds of thousands of photographs. Garret spent hours upon hours trying to delicately pull each file from its location. Garret ignored the writing, ignored the keystrokes, ignored all the mail. He needed to get the files, he needed to see what was inside. He worked all day and all night and he was amazed that Samantha never left. Finally Garret had the files sitting before him and all he had to do was open them. His connection was cut and Samantha was gone. Garret took a deep breath and loaded the pictures onto his screen. His heart fell to the ground and he threw the small leather book with an incredible force at the wall. He looked away from the screen and tears began to form at the corner of his eyes. He put his head into his hands and let his fingers stroke his red hair. He took large clumps of hair and began to pull violently, tearing small pieces away from the scalp. He took a deep breath and turned back to the monitor. There, displayed before him, were hundreds of thousands of small children: picture after picture of young boys and girls arching there backs over pillows, smiling blankly into the sky, holding themselves, holding their fathers, unclothed, unsure, frightened, most likely drugged. There little eyes were glazed with a most unnatural kind of pleasure, their long stick-like legs were parted and their toes arched forward. Pose after pose, picture after picture. Small pink bathrobes were spread upon the floor and strewn about the bed were stuffed animals, children's toys, adult's toys, ice-cube trays, syringes, small plastic bags, bottles of Vaseline, envelopes, cameras, thin sheets of plastic-wrap, masks, ropes, and metal boxes. Garret's mind turned off and the pictures started to scroll across the screen. A barrier was set up and Garret couldn't let the hatred go. Each second, each new picture, he began to grow weaker. His arms grew red, he began to sweat, his face grew pale. Garret's mind flashed back to the playground that day. All Garret could see in his mind was Samantha helping that young boy across the monkey bars, her hand tucked firmly underneath the little child and for what reason? Garret pulled the power from the computer and rushed out the door, driving as quick as he could towards the playground, his breath rushing in and out of his lungs. He needed to get to the playground. He needed to know that Samantha was gone. And if she wasn't, Garret thought to himself, what would he do? Garret was nearly there when red and blue lights flashed in his review mirror. He saw the police car urging him over to the corner of the road and his heart jumped in his chest. Did they know what he was up to? Had they been watching him? Was everything over? "License and registration," the officer said. Garret was completely out of breath, his face was white and his eyes blinking nervously. The police officer looked at him suspiciously and then shook his head and repeated himself. "License and registration." Garret pulled the information out and handed it to the officer, saying nothing. The police officer walked away from the car and back to his cruiser. He sat there talking towards his shoulder and writing something on a piece of paper. Garret was absolutely sure that he'd be taken in. Somehow, Garret thought, they had to know. They just had to know what was going on. The officer returned, handed Garret a small piece of paper, told him to drive more carefully and returned to his car. Something about the situation bothered Garret. As the police officer pulled away from the curb, he drove by Garret and stopped at the window, he looked over to Garret and winked at him. The policeman offered up an unmistakable grin. Garret turned away, looked back, and the policeman was gone. He slowly pulled away from the corner and, as he drove on towards the playground, he began to day dream. He saw himself as a child, lying in his bed, a loud knocking at the door, crashing, a man in a mask, a gun, handcuffs, being cuffed, in front of his house, to a garden hose. He couldn't remember how it was that he had been restrained, but it seemed impossible to escape at the time. His mind woke to bright yellow lights and the sound of a horn, he swerved violently out of the way of an oncoming car and sighed deeply. He looked up ahead and saw the tree in the distance; it was almost glowing. Garret had no idea how long the drive had taken him, but the sun had completely floated below the horizon and the park was a deep black. A warm light came bearing down upon him from the moon. He moved into the playground and looked all around, wondering if, in the shadows, he would see Samantha. If he did, Garret thought, what would he do? What would he say? He continued to walk in the dark, passing underneath the monkey bars, passing by the slide, touching the cold metal with his fingers. He couldn't keep his mind from tingling. Something was going on here and yet he had no way to explain it. Garret continued to walk up and over a freeway overpass. He thought for a moment that he would like to jump from that overpass but large fences rose up and sharp intertwined razors weaved about the top of the fence and he realized that the fear of pain would keep him from the deed. Still, he pulled himself up to the metal and grabbed hold of the fence and started to climb. He pulled himself up a few feet and came face to face with a colony of praying mantises. Hundreds of these insects were crowding about the fence, completely unaware of his presence. He grabbed at one and pulled it down with him. The insect seemed indifferent to his glance, it seemed to simply stare off into the night. The large insect had two large circular bulbs at the top of its triangular head that looked like large eyes. Coming down, almost from the middle of its neck, large angled claws that moved so smoothly, programmed, completely defined. The insect sat busily cleaning each one of its thin and fragile appendages. Garret watched it, fascinated. He pressed his finger down the insect's abdomen and tried to comfort it. He didn't know why he made these gestures but they felt inborn. He took the insect and placed it back on the fence. ... continued on Page 3 |
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