Writing Exercise: People in a Park

[StillStunned]

One scene, dozens of perspectives.

I've written a short set-up for a scene. People in a park on a sunny day. A mysterious stranger emerges. Who, what, why, that's for you to decide.

And whose point of view you tell the story from too. Who are these people, what are their lives? Why are they here? How do they react to the stranger? Do you prefer 1P, 2P, 3P? Dialogue, action, introspection?

(I've deliberately not included any children in my set-up, in case anyone wants to take it in a Lit-typical direction.)

So let's hear your version of how it plays out. Let's read about a man who talks to pigeons, a sad and angry girl, a puppy who can't pee when people are watching. Don't worry if someone else has chosen the same perspective: it can be interesting to see the different takes. And let's find out who the stranger is - man, woman, three midgets in a trench coat? A ghost, a goat, a sentient coat?

Usual rules apply: nothing that wouldn't make it past Lit's publishing scrutiny, and try to limit to about 300-ish words.

Have fun!

 

[StillStunned]

The set-up...

The park was busy, as it always was at this time of day. Sunlight bathed the grass in warmth and made shadows of the trees. A cloud hung in the blue sky, too lazy to move, too high above the birds to pay any attention to their noise.

Below, a gentle breeze hummed through the trees and muted the hubbub of voices. A dog’s bark cut through it once, twice, before falling silent. A bell rang: an ice-cream truck, perhaps, or someone else trying to attract attention.

Whatever it was, it went largely unnoticed by the people in the park. They were preoccupied with their lives, their thoughts and concerns.

A bald man sat on a bench, digging in his coat pocket as he explained to a pair of pigeons that he had a bag of breadcrumbs somewhere. A handful of other pigeons pecked on the ground by an overflowing bin.

An older couple stood looking at a small dog on a lead. Maybe they were waiting for it to pee, or perhaps they expected it to answer their questions. The dog did neither.

By the pond, a girl stared wistfully at a swan gliding with grace across the shimmering surface. In her hand she held a sheet of paper. Her fingers twisted around it until nothing remained but a crumpled ruin.

Others filled the park with their own presence as well. A stretching man in running shorts, two women in smart suits walking hand in hand, a young couple sitting side by side on a bench, both staring at their phones, each lost in their own thoughts. Others too, singly, in pairs, in groups. All minding their own business.

From the shadows under a stand of trees a figure emerged. A wide-brimmed hat hid the face, and a long trenchcoat reached to the grass at its feet. The figure stood watching the scene for a long moment, then a pair of gloved hands went to the belt holding its coat closed. It had a surprise that it wanted to share with the world.

 

[THBGato]

I've just got Blur in my head now.

"All the people! So many people!"

 

[BellaBestia]

I’ve been thinking about motivations behind the breeding kink lately so this is a start of something.

The park and the hill

The wooden park bench was sun-warmed when she finally sat down. She’d been walking in a daze it seemed, didn’t remember even leaving the doctor’s office, crossing the busy downtown street or arriving at the park. Her fugue state was broken only by the giddy screams and chatter of the children flinging themselves into the air on the swings nearby. She had jolted, startled and overly concerned. She bit back the gasp. Not more than 20 feet away was a gaggle of them, beautiful and joyful, careless and free under the oversight of distracted and exhausted Filipino au pairs. Children, she finally had to admit to herself, she seemed medically unable to have for herself.

This was the third time the doctor had gently told her the pregnancy was not viable, that she had failed. She couldn’t lean on her absent husband’s shoulder as he had elected to not come with her today, said he couldn’t get away from work. But she knew the real reason was he wouldn’t have been able to mask his disappointment for the few moments it would have taken him to comfort her, again. As she sat on the bench, the flaking green paint sticking to the underside skin of her bare thighs in her miniskirt, she twisted and tore the single tissue offered her by the doctor, its pieces fluttering down like snow. Christmas in July, she laughed to herself, bitterly. The tissue was surprisingly dry, she realized. She hadn’t cried into it. She hadn’t cried at all.

She dug her nails into the old wood of the bench on either side of her thighs, it splintered slightly possibly from dry rot more than the force of her anger, but she wasn’t completely sure. The screeching children in the playground behind her had become annoying. She didn’t actually like children but her husband, parents, in-laws, their whole church community in fact made it seem that getting pregnant, quickly and repeatedly, after getting married was her entire life’s purpose. Who was she if she couldn’t get pregnant? Who was she if she couldn’t give her husband children? She didn’t like where her thoughts were going. She gave her head a good but discrete shake, the mid-length brown curls around her heart-shaped face bouncing slightly. Just as she was about to stand up and propel herself reluctantly home, a stranger sat beside her, a bit too close beside her.

“Sorry,” he said brightly, his green eyes and full mouth sparking with friendliness. “May I sit here? You seem to need a friendly face right now. I said to myself when I saw you, now there is a beautiful woman who shouldn’t be alone and upset on such a gorgeous summer day. I don’t mean to pry, but if you’d like to talk I’d be happy to listen. Hope I can make you smile at least…” he trailed off.

She surveyed his face. He was slightly tanned, and a shank of his dirty blond hair fell across his eyebrow. He casually flipped it up out of his eye. He was young but not much younger than her, she estimated 25 or so. He was wearing a baseball shirt for a minor league team she knew of and light blue cargo style shorts. The midday sun glinted through the golden hair on his forearms and hands, resting one across his knees and the other on the back of the bench they sat upon. He looked up at her, expectantly, hopefully.

She smiled. “Hello. I’m …” she thought a moment, reluctant to give her real name, “Jill. Yes I guess I could use some cheering up. And you are?” She held out her hand to him and forced a smile. His eyes never leaving hers, his mouth curled slowly into a Cheshire Cat smile before he said his name.

“I’m Jack. Jack and Jill. Now all we need is a pail and a hill to tumble down, eh?”

She laughed a bit, embarrassed, because at that moment she was in fact imagining herself tumbled down in the soft verdant grass with him. She couldn’t help it he was very attractive, young and, by the pressed outline of his growing erection in the crotch of his shorts, she assumed virile. She didn’t like where her thoughts were going again but this time did not shake them away.

 

[anthrodisiac]

A Queen's Domain - 330 words (little over, sorry )

Swansy the swan idly glided over her pond. She eyed the girl, briefly hoping for snacks, but she just held a crumpled piece of paper. With an annoyed hiss, she sought out other suckers to feed her. If nobody showed up, she could go back and attack the useless girl. This would at least amuse her.

After a few laps, she gave up. No dottering old fools with breadcrumbs, no bright-eyed children blissfully unaware of that she was, in truth, a feathered monster with bristling hisses and sharpened teeth — a swan, through and through. Time to assault to girl.

As Swansy paddled over, slow, so as not to startle her prey, she noticed a strange figure emerge from the trees. She could sense its darkness. The gleaming eyes hidden beneath a wide brim, obscured in shadow. A blackened soul, much like her own. A rival.

Fuck that. Swansy was queen bitch 'round these parts.

She burst from the water in a flurry of feathers and flapping, past the startled girl, hurtling toward the figure as it opened its trench coat.

A hideous visage emerged as the coat dropped. The humans cried out in terror as the beast's indescribable body revealed itself.

Swansy careened into the multi-limbed nightmare and started pecking at its mismatched assortment of eyeballs. "I told you fucking kreptoids, this is my pond!"

"They ssssaid there be plot bunniessss!" the creature screamed.

After a couple more pecks, Swansy hopped onto the bleeding beast's chest and stared it down. "I slaughtered all the plot bunnies here years ago. They harshed my vibe. Tell the rest of your cohort there ain't no fluffy story fuckers 'round here. Just Queen Swansy. Show up again, I'll demonstrate exactly what I did to all those bunbuns..."

She hopped off and bade the kreptoid take its leave. It scrambled up, then slithered into the portal from whence it came.

Swansy sighed. The bloodlust remained, slaughter-blocked by her brief mercy.

Time to find the girl.

 

[redgarters]

I've just got Blur in my head now.

"All the people! So many people!"

And they say you can't hear a forum post

 

[TheRedChamber]

This could probably do with another pass or three (and not just to cut 34 words to get me under 300), but it's been fun as a short sharp exercise to get me writing again.

There was much that the photograph didn’t contain.

Most noticeably, it didn’t contain the tens of thousands of other people who had chosen to go to that particular park on that particular national holiday. It didn’t contain the two-hour drive – one on the highway and one on the strangled local approach. It didn’t contain any trace of getting up at six a.m in a failed attempt to beat the rush. The main reason that was missing, especially around the eyes, was because of the forty-five minutes they’d spent on make-up, hair and nails at home, and the further fifteen minutes spent retouching in the car rear-view mirror on arrival. This also was not pictured.

There was nothing of the hour-long queue in the heat for the coach to take them from the car park to the half-an-hour queue at the gate, which allowed them access to the three-kilometer walk to get to the right spot, the surging mass of tourist bodies slowing their progress again to basically a queue. It didn’t contain any of the complaints Li Mei had raised about the heat or her feet or the myriad ways in which their costume just wasn’t quite so.

Nor did it contain them getting fleesed for a bottle of water, which they should have remembered to bring, – or them getting harassed by the jobbing day photographer who wouldn’t accept their assurances that, no, they really did not need his eye. It certainly didn’t contain them almost coming to blows with that stupid piggy girl and her dorky boyfriend who wouldn’t yield the spot to them however patiently they waited, or politely they requested, and instead just kept snapping away oblivious.

The image contained nothing of their actual day. Instead, it simply showed a beautiful Tang woman, no, a mysterious ancient spirit, delicately posed under a spectacular cherry blossom ceiling.

It had all been worth it because it was sure to get her thousands of likes now she posted it to her Moments page.

 

[SugarStorm]

The set-up...

The park was busy, as it always was at this time of day. Sunlight bathed the grass in warmth and made shadows of the trees. A cloud hung in the blue sky, too lazy to move, too high above the birds to pay any attention to their noise.

Below, a gentle breeze hummed through the trees and muted the hubbub of voices. A dog’s bark cut through it once, twice, before falling silent. A bell rang: an ice-cream truck, perhaps, or someone else trying to attract attention.

Whatever it was, it went largely unnoticed by the people in the park. They were preoccupied with their lives, their thoughts and concerns.

A bald man sat on a bench, digging in his coat pocket as he explained to a pair of pigeons that he had a bag of breadcrumbs somewhere. A handful of other pigeons pecked on the ground by an overflowing bin.

An older couple stood looking at a small dog on a lead. Maybe they were waiting for it to pee, or perhaps they expected it to answer their questions. The dog did neither.

By the pond, a girl stared wistfully at a swan gliding with grace across the shimmering surface. In her hand she held a sheet of paper. Her fingers twisted around it until nothing remained but a crumpled ruin.

Others filled the park with their own presence as well. A stretching man in running shorts, two women in smart suits walking hand in hand, a young couple sitting side by side on a bench, both staring at their phones, each lost in their own thoughts. Others too, singly, in pairs, in groups. All minding their own business.

From the shadows under a stand of trees a figure emerged. A wide-brimmed hat hid the face, and a long trenchcoat reached to the grass at its feet. The figure stood watching the scene for a long moment, then a pair of gloved hands went to the belt holding its coat closed. It had a surprise that it wanted to share with the world.

“Yuna, don’t fall into the pond.”

The girl by the pond looked up at her grandpa. He was an old, bald man with a gentle expression, rummaging through his pockets for something to feed the birds.

“Yes, grandpa.”

She turned back to the swan. It moved with quiet grace across the water, white and untouched. Beautiful. Though she knew better... One had bitten the neighbor’s boy once. That had been less beautiful.

The paper in her hands crackled softly as her fingers worked it. She’d confessed her feelings. He’d written back. The paper supposedly held the answer. With boys you never knew.

Her pulse quickened, and she glanced around the park. The benches, the people, the quiet morning unfolding as if nothing in it could possibly matter as much as this.

Yuna had promised not to read it before eight, but it had to be a few minutes after at this point. She unfolded it, slowly. Carefully. Read it. Then read it again. She couldn’t believe her eyes; he felt the same way.

The words seemed to lift something inside her, something light and bright and impossible to hold. A laugh slipped out before she could stop it, and she pushed to her feet. She rushed to her grandpa, pushing the paper to her chest.

“Grandpa, do you have the time?”

“I must have forgotten my watch.” He turned slightly. “Excuse me.”

Two women in modest suits, their hats resting in their laps, had just sat down next to him.

“Do you have the time?”

One of them smiled and glanced at her wrist.

“It’s 8:15.”

Yuna grinned. She could still make it, if she hurried. She’d have to cut through the street by the small shops around the corner; she could be at their place by half past.

She looked up.

The sky turned white.

---

Edit: Realized I took myself a liberty or two. Sorry!

 

[ElectricBlue]

The sky turned white.

---

Edit: Realized I took myself a liberty or two. Sorry!

Ouch!

 

[Erozetta]

The image was one that could’ve been seen a million times: young lovers sat on a bench. In older times, perhaps one would’ve been holding a book while the other wrapped their arm around, comfort in closeness and mutual happiness. But this wasn’t older times, and the image wasn’t exactly right. There was a divide in the closeness.

Upon first glance, one would think the divide was the phone in their separate hands, backs to each other, each smiling at the small screen. She laughed and shook her head. He smirked and glanced up and away. Both tapping in a smooth rhythm opposite one another.

Stepping back and looking at the whole, you’d notice other differences. Him in a heavy jacket pulled tight against a chilled wind, her in a light dress, her hair tied up as she fanned herself in the heat of the sun. Other things were similar, though; the signs of spring bloomed around them, though the foliage varied.

Almost a world apart, but connected—and close—by a small screen in their respective hands that elicits their smiles and gentle affection for one another.



(Yes, I know I didn't follow the prompt entirely. The way SS described these two just put this thought in my head and I couldn't get it out. Was feeling wistful, I guess.)

 

[anthrodisiac]

Today is a wonderful day for sunbathing. Mother told me all the rumors about our people, but surely, she just didn't want people to ogle my sexy, sexy body. But today I was gonna put all that behind me. I was gonna show off to the world just what it'd been missing!

Still, I'd gone out in my usual trench coat and hat, just to appease mother. "Young lady, did you remember your trenchcoat?" she'd hissed.

Gods, every time. Moms, amirite?

I feel nervous as I step into the middle of the park. It's such a nice day. There's a pretty white bird, like the one Mr. Zeus turned into that one time. There are some pigeons hanging around a bald guy. Lots of other people chillin', enjoying the park. Like I shoulda been doing my whole life; not stuck at home, hiding because Mom said we were "dangerous." As long as the snakes don't bite anybody, we're hardly dangerous! I told them all to be on their best behavior today, and they said they would. So, should be totes fine, yeah?

My hands linger at the edge of the trench coat. I can hear Mom's voice screaming in the back of my mind, but screw it, I'm an adult now. I wanna see the old guy by the pigeon lose his shit at my curves and my adorable pink-and-white dotted bikini!

With a deep breath, I finally open my coat and reveal my gift — my sexy body. I toss away the hat and let my snakes hang loose with a flick of my head. Several people turn to stare, mouths open, as they see the sexiest gorgon they ever had the privilege to lay... eyes... on...

Uh-oh. Guess Mom wasn't lying about the stone thing.

Oopsie.

 

[Actingup]

Black, black, beautiful black.

A swan glided across the water, followed by another, their ebony feathers shining in the Perth sun. They searched for little bread treats in the water: enough people ignored the 'don't feed' signs to keep them in carbs.

A girl was sitting on a bench near the water, watching them. Her perfect waist length braids were dotted with little beads in brown, ivory and black. A brilliant green dress with red and white patterns contrasted vividly with luscious dark skin. Black, black beautiful black. By any measure, she was physical perfection, in her prime. But tears were streaming down her face.

An old lady sat down next to her.

"You alright, love?" She had a broad, bush accent, strongly Australian, strongly indigenous. She was wearing a West Coast Eagles top stretched over her broad body. She had just come from watching her nephew play footy for his new club, his atheletic body twisting and turning as he'd performed incredible feats. Black, black, beautiful black.

The girl turned to her, flustered. The woman's face was wrinkled, leatherbeaten, her expression kindly. And her eyes... her eyes had seen pain. Black, black, beautiful black.

"My parents," said the girl. "They're gone. They never got to come here. They used their savings to send me. Student visa."

"Oh, love, that's hard news." The woman put her arm around the girl, and they sat quietly talking, watching the sun slowly go down.

The dog went home. The person in the trench coat went home. The swans started to settle down for the nigiht. Finally, all was dark, apart from the lights from the city, and the stars in the sky. Shining from the dark.

Shining from the black, black, beautiful black.

 

[onehitwanda]

The sky turned white.

It took me a moment. And then it took me a moment again.

 

[BeechLeaf]

Around the corner of the island, where it had been hidden by the bushes, came another swan. The girl stared in admiration, then stumbled back as two more rounded the corner and joined their parents: the discoloration on their feathers showed they were young. More came. The water filled with their graceful bodies, dwarfing the ducks, moorhens, gulls. More came.

More came until there were sixteen of them, sixteen, then one by one then pair by pair they arose, into the sky, the sky turned white, with sixteen swans wheeling over her. The heavens were fall of circling swans, high above, over and over, the sixteen flying in symphony, slowly and with grace.

At last they peeled off, flew away, out of the park, to some wild unimaginable haven. More flew away.

More flew away.

Another flew away.

And another.

One more.

The last swan went.

 

[Seurat]

He liked to cut through the park when he could do it without the panic created by darkness; the spring sun combined with an early departure from work meant he could enjoy the waterside view without feeling rushed.

She was sitting on the same bench as yesterday, the lady he had talked to, trying to corral the Doberman pup that had yet to learn how to control its gangly legs. Richard's heart quickened at the sight of her. They'd only talked for a few minutes, but he found her intelligence almost more attractive than her physical features. He slowed his pace a little so as not to startle her, calling out a short, "hi" that sounded both weak and forced. He felt as if he were fifteen again, about to ask a crush to a dance.

She turned her attention from the dog to him, greeting him with a smile that washed away the chill of the afternoon. The dog, left to his own devices, divided his attention between a small girl with an ice cream cone willing to exchange belly rubs for face licks, and a few swans that ventured too close.

She stood and closed the distance between them, meeting him halfway. "You're a very interesting man, Richard. I'm glad you took this route home again."

"Good to see you. I was sort of hoping you'd be here as well. I was hoping we could talk some more." What she said finally registered. "'Interesting'? What do you mean?"

"I mean that people asked me about you. We talked about twenty minutes yesterday, and when I returned today a man and a woman were asking questions about you. About me. About us, as if there was an 'us'. They we trying to be discreet but failed miserably. Tell me why it is that I feel like I am under government scrutiny for having a pleasant conversation about dogs."

He looked around at the scant people in the park, as if spies would be hiding behind every tree. Private investigators in trenchcoats and dark sunglasses could be anywhere. Spies with Russian accents. He saw the little girl, now upset that the Doberman had eaten her ice cream, return to her parents. The swans had headed off to calmer surroundings. "I hope that whomever it was isn't going to scare you off from talking to me."

"On the contrary, Richard. I was wondering if I could treat you to some coffee and maybe have a discussion on what it is that makes other people so interested in you. I already know one of the things that I find intriguing."


- From my recently worked on and most likely never to be published alternate version of 'Another Love'.

 

[ChuckWolf]

It was a beautiful day in the park and very busy as well, with joggers, frizbee-throwers, dog-walkers and others.

It was probably why Frank had been instructed to sit on this bench.

"Hello Frank, beautiful day today, isn't it sweetie?" Frank heard from behind him. Her voice was very syrupy and dripping with smug-condescension.

The woman was wearing dark sunglasses, a fedora and a long, black leather trenchcoat- her outfit was at odds with the meeting place, that she had chose.

The woman took off the fedora, sunglasses and trenchcoat, revealing a beautiful blonde in her late forties with blue-eyes and a smile, wearing a white tight one-piece, high-cut leotard and sneakers. She had red nails that matched the color of her lipstick.

Frank knew who she was; he'd been working undercover investigating her "club".

Someone had set him up.

Sitting down next to him, very closely, the woman put her hand on his upper thigh and said, "Sorry about that cutie, I've always wanted to make a mysterious entrance. We've never formally met by the way, however I was there the other night, when you were, 'out of uniform', shall we say."

Frank was in no mood.

"Let's just get this over with."

The blonde looked taken aback.

"Well someone sure is in a grumpy mood; are you still sore from the other night?" the blonde taunted.

"What was in that drink?"

"Oh, just a little something to put you in the right mood for our impromptu photo session. Speaking of which..."

The blonde then reached from her trenchcoat and pulled out an envelope, which she handed to Frank.

Frank opened it and they were worse than he could've imagined.

The blonde snuggled closer to him, patting his thigh affectionately.

"Yeah, those photos are pretty compromising; if your buddies on the vice squad ever saw them..."

The blonde excitedly pointed at one of the photos.

"That one was my favorite. You have a GREAT body by the way!"

"Enough. What do you want from me?"

The blonde whispered in his ear.

"Everything."

 

[EmilyMiller]

It was hot, mid-nineties. Too hot to do anything but sunbathe. And, even with my complexion, that’s what I did. I placed full faith in my SPF 50 and rather less than complete assurance in my ability to pull off the string bikini I’d bought. Why had I thought this was a good idea? String bikinis were for curvy girls, pretty girls, confident girls. I was none of those things.

Still, it was a nice day. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I entered the park, sandaled, floppy hat on head, tote bag slung over my shoulder. My dress was pale yellow, with eyelets in pretty patterns, and floated as I walked.

I raised my sunglasses - new Maui Jims with prescription lenses - and tried to find a spot on the grass. Not too close to others, not next to a path. Many people had had the same idea, but eventually I made my selection.

I placed my blanket on the ground, weighting the corners with my bag, my Stanley, and my two shoes. There was hardly a breeze, but my ritual was still mandatory.

Looking nervously around, I put my hat and glasses on the grass and grabbed the hem of my dress. As I pulled it up and over my head, I felt a sudden chill, though the sun was still blazing.

Quickly, I replaced my glasses and lay down. On my stomach was best. It wasn’t like my meager breasts made that position uncomfortable, and it showed off the least awful part of my anatomy. Even I couldn’t criticize my butt too much, a sole exception to my general scrawniness.

I lay there, eyes closed, wondering what was worse, being checked out or not being checked out, when I became aware of a shadow falling over me. Glancing up, I saw a large figure, backlit by the sun. It looked like a magical aura was surrounding him.

He stooped, and a hand caressed my naked ass-cheek. Then a voice was whispering low in my ear, making me tingle. “That group of trees looks private.”

I raised myself and shaded my eyes, looking in the direction he had indicated. “Meet me there in five,” were his last words before he walked off.

As if under some kind of hypnosis, I got up, debated whether to throw my dress back on, and decided against it. Instead, I took a gulp of water from my Stanley, and a smaller blanket from my bag. With another look around me, I headed for the shade. If any eyes followed my minimally clothed and skinny body, I was too focused on my destination to notice.

As I walked, my heart began to pound, and not due to any lack of fitness, I was in great shape. And yet my breathing also became labored. Perhaps it was simply the sun that was making my cheeks feel so hot.

I stepped into the shadows with a final guilty glance around. There he was, the dappled light falling on his substantial form. Even in the semi-darkness, I could see he was ready for me.

I placed my small blanket on the ground in front of him and knelt on it. Looking up, I opened my mouth. He stroked my cheek, and I nuzzled against his palm.

“You look amazing,” he began. “Sorry I kept you waiting, the meeting ran over. You know how Robert loves to go on and on. And… to make matters worse, my mother called to say she would stop by this evening.”

“Let’s make it quick then. I can do that,” I grinned, taking his sweetly familiar hardness into my oh so willing softness.

[sorry it’s ~ 500 words ]

 

[SmilingLez]

Second person POV micro fiction

You circle the grass. Your legs shaking. Your girl stands above you. You can feel her eyes looking at you. Anger. Your stomach hurts. You squat. Nothing happens. You stand.

A man on a bench tosses something. Food maybe. "Yeah, I know how that feels," he says to a bird. You want to chase that bird, but you don't.

Your girl shifts her weight. You squat. You try again. Still nothing. She frowns. Sad.

The man keeps talking to his birds like you don't exist. Like she doesn't exist. Like no one exists.

You see it. Your girl's looking away. You finally relax.

It happens. You pee.

 

[liliput1]

It took me a moment. And then it took me a moment again.

Still not making the connection...

 

[onehitwanda]

Still not making the connection...

Hiroshima or Nagasaki.

 

[BeechLeaf]

8.15. I knew the time was important but I couldn't think of the link. I just looked it up: Hiroshima, 8.15.

 

[liliput1]

Hiroshima or Nagasaki.

Ugh. I promised myself not to watch Grave of the Fireflies again.

 

[EmilyMiller]

“Yuna, don’t fall into the pond.”

The girl by the pond looked up at her grandpa. He was an old, bald man with a gentle expression, rummaging through his pockets for something to feed the birds.

“Yes, grandpa.”

She turned back to the swan. It moved with quiet grace across the water, white and untouched. Beautiful. Though she knew better... One had bitten the neighbor’s boy once. That had been less beautiful.

The paper in her hands crackled softly as her fingers worked it. She’d confessed her feelings. He’d written back. The paper supposedly held the answer. With boys you never knew.

Her pulse quickened, and she glanced around the park. The benches, the people, the quiet morning unfolding as if nothing in it could possibly matter as much as this.

Yuna had promised not to read it before eight, but it had to be a few minutes after at this point. She unfolded it, slowly. Carefully. Read it. Then read it again. She couldn’t believe her eyes; he felt the same way.

The words seemed to lift something inside her, something light and bright and impossible to hold. A laugh slipped out before she could stop it, and she pushed to her feet. She rushed to her grandpa, pushing the paper to her chest.

“Grandpa, do you have the time?”

“I must have forgotten my watch.” He turned slightly. “Excuse me.”

Two women in modest suits, their hats resting in their laps, had just sat down next to him.

“Do you have the time?”

One of them smiled and glanced at her wrist.

“It’s 8:15.”

Yuna grinned. She could still make it, if she hurried. She’d have to cut through the street by the small shops around the corner; she could be at their place by half past.

She looked up.

The sky turned white.

---

Edit: Realized I took myself a liberty or two. Sorry!

The Unforgettable Fire

 

[SugarStorm]

It took me a moment. And then it took me a moment again.

A few years ago (okay, fifteen), I visited Japan a couple of times. On one of those trips, I went to the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum.

I think I walked in as one person and came out as another. That probably sounds trite, but it’s the only way I can describe it. Even now, I can still see it all with uncomfortable clarity: the exhibits, the personal accounts, the quiet, methodical ways the consequences of nuclear destruction and radiation poisoning were laid out.

Story after story, object after object, each one small on its own, but together... I don't know how to put it... Overwhelming?

A few of the things presented have stayed with me more than the rest.

One of them was a small wristwatch, stopped at 8:15.

 

[onehitwanda]

A few years ago (okay, fifteen), I visited Japan a couple of times. On one of those trips, I went to the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum.

I think I walked in as one person and came out as another. That probably sounds trite, but it’s the only way I can describe it.

I had a similar experience with Anne Frank House in Amsterdam. Not at the same scale, but for me a level of horror I never want to experience again.