Typical Ground-Dwellers

This happened yesterday. It was a strange day. I think my presence may have added a strange symmetry to the event. Or maybe it threw off a symmetry that was already there.

 

We arrived at the playground late in the afternoon, my younger brother and I. Off in the distance six young male teenlings were playing football with the standard made-up rules. My little brother climbed to the top of the monkey bars, I did so as well. Gave me a full vantage point of the land.

           

There were people all around, moving across the parking lot, in and out of the schools. I recognized my old high school history teacher on the opposite side of the playground with his two daughters, right next to the kids playing football. Some of the people stared at me. They didn't say it but they all thought I was a rebel, a deviant; to them, no self-respecting twenty year old would sit atop monkeybars. Typical ground-dwellers.

           

A conflict arose amongst the kids playing football. A tall and strong kid on one team stole the backpack of a short and out of shape kid on the other team—he was dangling it in the air, laughing as the short kid jumped to reach it. "C'mon, give it back!" he yelled, over and over. My old high school teacher watched from his nearby location.

           

The tall kid dropped the backpack and shoved the short kid to the ground. He had him pinned, began punching him in the face. The short kid didn't even get a shot in—it all happened by surprise. He was busy shielding his eyes.

           

I jumped down from the bars. "Hey!" I shouted, "That's pathetic!"

           

All eyes across the world seemed upon me now. The people in the parking lot, my old teacher, the brawling children, and my little brother up above. I stood there, still as a statue. "You got weight on that kid! Let him go!"

 

The boys were frozen; I stared into the eyes of the tall and strong one, who in comparison to myself was quite short and spindly. My black longcoat and my tattered boots added their unique brand of menace to my stance and I could see the punk was afraid—perhaps more afraid than in years, more afraid than he'd been since he'd stopped wetting the bed at the sight of shadows in the dark. Reluctantly, he stood and began walking home with his two friends.

 

Shorty and his two friends began walking in the opposite direction.

 

I could hear both groups muttering amongst themselves.

 

The tall kid, the one who had given all the punches, said to his friends, "I only let him go because I felt sorry for him…"

 

The short kid, the one who had taken all the punches, said to his friends, "Didja see that? I totally kicked his a*s!"

 

They left. The adults in the scattered crowd before me continued to stare.

Author's Note

Moral of the story? I'm still trying to determine that.

Reviews

[Hedra Helix]

bestest part IMHO
Some of the people stared at me. They didn't say it but they all thought I was a rebel, a deviant; to them, no self-respecting twenty year old would sit atop monkeybars. Typical ground-dwellers.



Cos, is it humor? Is it you being serious, a mix of both, i cant tell, and that's cool. Go subtle funny mystery.
Livens the whole thing up.