Week 4 Writing Homework
Write a story about ‘An empty playground at dusk.’ Create a strong mood through your description of the playground. Show how your main character is feeling through the way you describe the setting-without directly saying ‘she felt sad’ or ‘he was happy.’ Make the playground important to the story, not just a place where things happen.
Slides: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1I4h1A0b1Y7eiFxULrb-HTp0xpyrrleen?usp=sharing
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- Due Date : November 11, 2025
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57 thoughts on “Week 4 Writing Homework”
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Scholarly wk4
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I was cornered. Nowhere to run. Brick wall behind me. Four people ganging up. Blacking out.
30 Mins before
It was early in the morning. I plodded up my towns forgotten park, I couldn’t see anything the mist was covering it. I didn’t know why I came here but I kept on advancing quickly towards the park. When the fog cleared it was clean no graffiti no sticks or leaves. it was clean, almost too clean to be normal. I was walking through walking to the park then realized that one stick, one singular stick in the middle of the park with a plastic bag right next to it, white substance inside. I wanted to investigate but wasn’t sure it seemed almost just maybe out of place. I heard some breathing behind me. Was I imagining it? Was it real? Four shadows fell over me I knew I was not imagining it, I spun around. Nothing just two more sticks. At that point my heart was racing, I could feel sweat pouring down my face. At that point I wanted to run but I knew I had come so far that I cannot go back now. I heard a crunch of leaves. Once again instincts took over and I spun around – no one. I kept on going I am trembling now. Each step felt like I was holding up the world, hesitation hit me with each step. Run. They’re here. Have to escape. No choice. Closing in. No blacking out. Stop. Breath.
‘What are you doing in our park?’ He shouted at my face so loud, I swear I felt the ground tremble.
‘N n n nothing’ I stammered.
At this point my tummy is in millions of knots. I prayed. Though I knew I was probably done for and does pretty much nothing else I could do.
‘I’m new here I thought this was the town park.’ I choked out
They said nothing. Two of them left I knew this was my chance I had to run but how it was just not physically possible. Two big men cornering me the other two not far away. I was simply domed. Talking my way out of it was impossible – One of them grabbed me and shouted angrily at my face and said your not new my colleague has seen you here every day in town since last year.
‘So you guys are stalkers, wow amazing people’ I said sarcastically.
That didn’t help my situation at all, in fact the started punching. Then everything went black nothing silence I was losing conciseness
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My homework is the file below. Thank you!
The sun had pulled its last thread of orange light from the sky
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https://docs.google.com/document/d/1m0QCtRCf3smAxMkawyZbbp82D7kUrdEFG3bA6R7_aPc/edit?tab=t.0
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Wk 4 Scholarly
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The bustling playground was empty at dusk. Everyone was gone. Not one person. I gazed lifelessly at the playground, dumbfounded. I hopped over the fence. It was locked. The silent creaking of swings seemed to echo across the vast area as it rocked relentlessly, although no-one was on it. My fingers traced the familiar, cool surface of the slide as I loitered around the hollow plaza. I slumped on a wooden bench. My warm hands quivered in unease. I knew this place so well, yet I felt as if I wasn’t supposed to be here.
I navigated around the abandoned park, which expanded with every step I took. Was it this big? Or is this just an illusion? Cardboard signs hung in every corner of the park, each one pointing in random directions. No, they were not random. It wants me to do something. I looked again. The signs all pointed towards the middle. My legs automatically pulled themselves towards the centre of the playground. I gasped in delightful dread. An endless tunnel stood in the middle of nowhere, its rainbow colours illuminating the darkness.
No, this is weird.
Wrong.
Alluring.
Yet comforting.
But I could not do it. I had to go home. Or I might be lost in the abyss for the night. I must go home. Go home.
Suddenly, the tunnel started growing larger, like a black hole, consuming everything in it grasp.
Run.
Don’t look back.
Just run.
Must escape.
No other option.
Go.
Breath.
I tugged at the fence, but it was still locked. Just why? Normally, you can open it from the inside. But this wasn’t normal – it was a disaster. I tried to leap over the fence, but the bars were higher. Way higher. I screamed for help. I waved my hands. I bashed the fence. But I was unheard.
I was flushed down the slide, my trembling legs scraping against the rough surface of the tunnel. I looked back up tunnel. There is no way I can be rescued now. I shut my eyes, prepared for my doom…
I crashed onto a soft mattress, barely conscious. A blur of familiar faces filled my vision. It was my friends, but tears were welling in their eyes and frowns were plastered on every face. I looked at my town. It was… a ruin. I tried to escape, but I was imprisoned inside another park, not the kind I like. All equipment was broken, and all structures were deteriorated. I was stuck… abandoned… neglected… thrown into a park… more like a prison… but just worse…
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Week 4 Schoarship Writing
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A single red balloon hung in the air, lashed to the gate, but there was no one there.
Only moments before, the sky began to bleed crimson as I stepped through the heavy iron gates that were once simple oak fences. The gate gave a metallic shriek, as it let go a cascade of childhood summers. The sight of the small maple bench brought a genuine smile to my lips—the first I’ve had in years. Worries seemed to fly by as I ventured deeper into the park. I started to play on the swing, the feeling was just as I remembered from years ago, closing my eyes and getting butterflies in my stomach while imagining streaking through the fiery hues of orange and gold.
The first distant, flickering sparks from angel fire freckled the ink black empyrean as I leaped off the sky chair, then landing softly on the wet grass. The dirt squelched as I made my way across the park. I took one last look at the domain of dreams then approached the gate. I stopped.
A single red balloon hung in the air, lashed to the gate, but there was no one there. It wasn’t there before, nor had anyone come into the park while I was here. My breath hitched. I looked around, no one was there. The merry-go-round groaned then started to spin, drifting into a phantom rotation. The swing followed suit, rising and falling in an unbidden rhythm. Playground equipment creaked, the wind howled into the dark suffocating abyss. Something was wrong.
The old playground stood as a ruined cage, once a beacon of children’s bliss was now a wrecked dusty confinement. It was like peeling paint to reveal something far worse. My blood ran cold. A twig snapped.
A single red balloon hung in the air, lashed to the gate, but there was no one there.
Only moments before, the sky began to bleed crimson as I stepped through the heavy iron gates that were once simple oak fences. The gate gave a metallic shriek, as it let go a cascade of childhood summers. The sight of the small maple bench brought a genuine smile to my lips—the first I’ve had in years. Worries seemed to fly by as I ventured deeper into the park. I started to play on the swing, the feeling was just as I remembered from years ago, closing my eyes and getting butterflies in my stomach while imagining streaking through the fiery hues of orange and gold.
The first distant, flickering sparks from angel fire freckled the ink black empyrean as I leaped off the sky chair, then landing softly on the wet grass. The dirt squelched as I made my way across the park. I took one last look at the domain of dreams then approached the gate. I stopped.
A single red balloon hung in the air, lashed to the gate, but there was no one there. It wasn’t there before, nor had anyone come into the park while I was here. My breath hitched. I looked around, no one was there. The merry-go-round groaned then started to spin, drifting into a phantom rotation. The swing followed suit, rising and falling in an unbidden rhythm. Playground equipment creaked, the wind howled into the dark suffocating abyss. Something was wrong.
The old playground stood as a ruined cage, once a beacon of children’s bliss was now a wrecked dusty confinement. It was like peeling paint to reveal something far worse. My blood ran cold. A twig snapped.
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Writing Attachment here. DO NOT MARK THE FIRST PAGE AND THE FIRST THREE LINES OF THE SECOND PAGE. THEY ARE USED AS NOTES TO HELP ME IN MY WRITING.
Week 4 Scholarly
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The last streaks of sunlight slipped behind the trees, leaving the playground washed in a dim orange glow. The swings moved slightly, though no one was there to push them. Their slow creak broke the stillness, a sound too soft to belong to anyone but the wind. A single shoe lay forgotten near the slide, one lace buried in the sand, its partner long gone. The air smelled faintly of rust and dry leaves.
Mara stepped through the gate, its hinges groaning as if they remembered her. The gravel crunched beneath her shoes, sharp and loud in the quiet. She looked at the slide first, then at the monkey bars where the paint had begun to peel. Her hand brushed one of the metal rungs. It was cold and rough beneath her fingers, colder than she expected.
The playground had once felt enormous to her. She remembered running from swing to swing, breathless, her laughter mingling with the laughter of others. Now it seemed smaller, like a photograph that had been left out in the sun too long. The colors had faded. The air felt too still.
A single streetlight flickered to life, throwing a pale circle across the sandpit. Moths spiraled through the light and then disappeared into the deepening blue. Mara sat on the edge of the seesaw. It tilted slightly under her weight, the other end rising as though waiting for someone to take the opposite seat.
She watched it hover there, motionless, suspended between up and down. The sound of a car passing on the road beyond the trees made her lift her head, but the sound faded quickly, swallowed by the evening.
The sky darkened until the colors ran together. One star appeared, faint but certain. Mara stood and walked toward the gate again. For a moment she looked back at the playground. The swings had stopped moving. The silence was complete.
When she left, the gate closed behind her with a soft click. The empty playground waited, holding its breath, as if it knew she would not come back tomorrow.
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my homework is attached
Scholarship Writing Week 4
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here u go i didnt do a lot of words tho
2025-11-09 tt
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My breath snagged. My heartbeat slowed. I looked down.
Blurry.
Spinning.
My tongue touched the cap then the stalk.
It tasted odd. Bitter. Evil.
My eyes wandered around for a last second before I blacked out.
10 minutes ago.
My friend warned me for the 10th time about how this place is infected with Umbra morbus. However I shook it off like water off a ducks back. He said don’t come running to me if I got infected but I didn’t care about that. I cared about my camera. I had lost my camera while trying to take a photo of the Fungi but I couldn’t find any so I left without my camera. I climbed over the fence and landed in the playground sand pit. Now it was time to find the camera. But little did I know that the sandpit shelters the Umbra morbus and now one of its spores has landed in my shoe.
I brushed the sand off my sleeves and scanned the playground. The camera had to be around here somewhere. A tingling feeling, like something was biting with blunt teeth came from inside the fabric. I slapped my trousers and then it stopped. ‘Probably just a bug’ I thought then went back to finding it.
Then it came back with vengeance. My leg jerked. I froze. The sting became something bigger like I was being jabbed by a needle. I yanked off my shoe, and for a heartbeat, for only a heartbeat. I saw it. The mark of the devil.
What was once my skin had become something monstrous.
Red. Bloated.
I watched helplessly as it crawled up.
I tried to stand. But crumbled down instantly.
Now it had reached my mouth and now it was time for me to meet my fate.
Death.
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It was early morning, so early that the roosters hadn’t even woken up yet. I sat on the dusty park bench, those that looked like they were built in Egyptian times, yet still felt so comfortable, a paradox that I could never seem to understand. I wasn’t even attempting to appreciate the beauty of the playground before my eyes, yet I couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the birds lightly chirping or the slight shift of the swings that were so mysterious when I was younger. It was a scene of pure beauty and nostalgia, the type that would be put in nature documentaries if it were displaying children instead of wildlife. Yet, something felt off.
No laughter of other kids playing together. No crank of the faulty see-saw that the mayor never bothered to fix. I had always sat on the same park bench, watching the same view with the same birds, but now it was no longer comforting, just unsettling. There always felt like there was an empty part of himself waiting to be fulfilled, but now I had grown up I had lost that memory I used to have. The days of, “Tag, you’re it!” and “Whee! This is so much fun!” was gone. Completely evaporated.
A voice came from the corner of his mind. A corner that could’ve been imagination but I was sure was not. “Sorry, did I startle you?” I turned, seeing a little boy sitting on the same bench. “I’m Ethan, and Harris told me about you.” it was almost too much to process with my morning brain, having voice that sounded so familiar, almost as if it was my younger self calling out to me. “Hi, Ethan! Why are you at the park so early?” another 2 figures appeared in the distance, waving. “Those are my parents.” I smiled.
“Oh! How nice. I was just leaving.”
I walked away, watching Ethan jump up and down and run towards the swing set. I tried to leave silently, but I couldn’t help but turn and watch. Something clicked in the back of my mind. Maybe the piece I was missing wasn’t happiness. It was passing happiness onto others. It was a quick realisation, sure. But I guess it was due. I looked back, not with envy, not with annoyance, but with gratitude. gratitude of the gift of giving.
It was early morning, so early that the roosters hadn’t even woken up yet. I sat on the dusty park bench, those that looked like they were built in Egyptian times, yet still felt so comfortable, a paradox that I could never seem to understand. I wasn’t even attempting to appreciate the beauty of the playground before my eyes, yet I couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the birds lightly chirping or the slight shift of the swings that were so mysterious when I was younger. It was a scene of pure beauty and nostalgia, the type that would be put in nature documentaries if it were displaying children instead of wildlife. Yet, something felt off.
No laughter of other kids playing together. No crank of the faulty see-saw that the mayor never bothered to fix. I had always sat on the same park bench, watching the same view with the same birds, but now it was no longer comforting, just unsettling. There always felt like there was an empty part of himself waiting to be fulfilled, but now I had grown up I had lost that memory I used to have. The days of, “Tag, you’re it!” and “Whee! This is so much fun!” was gone. Completely evaporated.
A voice came from the corner of his mind. A corner that could’ve been imagination but I was sure was not. “Sorry, did I startle you?” I turned, seeing a little boy sitting on the same bench. “I’m Ethan, and Harris told me about you.” it was almost too much to process with my morning brain, having voice that sounded so familiar, nearly as if it was my younger self calling out to me. “Hi, Ethan! Why are you at the park so early?” 2 figures appeared in the distance, waving. “Those are my parents.” I smiled.
“Oh! How nice. I was just leaving.”
I walked away, watching Ethan jump up and down and run towards the swing set. I tried to leave silently, but I couldn’t help but turn and watch. Something clicked in the back of my mind. Maybe the piece I was missing wasn’t happiness. It was passing happiness onto others. It was a quick realisation, sure. But I guess it was due. I looked back, not with envy, not with annoyance, but with gratitude. gratitude for the gift of giving.
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In our complex life on Earth, we have discovered many things, including deep aqua oceans, mountainous climbs, and in the sandy section, you could say an abandoned playground at dusk. Among humans, Mike particularly is the one who found it. Or the only who noticed it. In the time of dusk, where all was sandy and the night taunts who everywhere you go, he was going on one of his gloomy sunset walks, when no one was around to bully him. Mike was the kind of kid who everyone, bully or not, can’t help but tease him. He didn’t play sports much like the other boys everyone respected, but he wasn’t the lazy gamers who people included. He was just a normal, bullied bookworm. Not that he could help it. It was just his hobby. So, he adopted the habit of going out on walks when the sun dimmed and everyone was inside having fun with friends. He was quiet and lonely, but he was pretty much used to this life now, no matter how painful it was. But at that moment, he noticed something others hadn’t. An abandoned playground. It felt… off, as Mike tried to put it, but couldn’t find anything to prove that thought. So, denying his gut feeling, he went over to the playground and started playing. Every swing on the swing and every drop on the slide felt wrong. Neglected. Then suddenly, the pieces clicked. Thoughts flashed his mind like lightning bolts – The hat. Grandad’s old one. ‘We’ll put it good use!’ Mom said after the funeral. After my grandfather’s last breath. The hat, rotting away in the prison of a basement for years on end. Bits bit off by rats, mouldy black spots here and there, and suddenly, reality returned. The dream passed off. There, at that moment, Mike realised why he felt so lonely. He just had to fix that hat.
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The last bit of sunlight slipped away behind the trees, leaving the playground in a cool, quiet purple. The air felt sharper now, as if the day had taken all its warmth with it. Olivia pushed the metal gate. It didn’t swing open—it dragged along the ground, letting out a long, slow scrape.
The swings stood side by side, still and stiff. Sometimes, in the afternoons, the swings would fly high, squeaking with laughter. Now, the chains hung in straight lines, like they were frozen. Olivia placed her hand on one. The rubber seat was cold and damp. She gave it a gentle push. It didn’t swing. It only trembled a little before stopping.
Woodchips crunched under her shoes as she walked toward the seesaw. One end pointed up toward the sky, like it was waiting for someone. The other end was stuck deep into the ground. Olivia pressed her foot down on the low end, but it didn’t move. It was as if the playground had made up its mind—no more playing today.
She looked around. The slide was shiny with dew, like it had been crying. The monkey bars, which used to glow in the sun, looked like dark, bent bones now. A gust of wind rushed through the empty space, lifting loose leaves and spinning them in circles.
A streetlight buzzed and flickered on. Its yellow light didn’t make the playground warmer. Instead, it made the shadows longer—thin and stretched, like tired arms reaching out. Olivia remembered running across the grass with her best friend Lily, racing to get to the swings first. She remembered laughter that filled the whole park.
Now the only sound was the wind brushing against the slide.
Olivia walked back to the gate. She stopped and turned around one more time. The swings were still perfectly still, like they were waiting for tomorrow.
“See you another day,” she whispered.
She didn’t close the gate behind her.
The scraping sound followed her down the path.
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Present
I strolled into the playground, the metal glinting from the swings. The canvas of the sky was full of splotches of pink and scarlet, with the yellow orb falling below the horizon. Beads of sweat cascaded down my cheeks; the day had been harsh
Half an hour before
I was in trouble. The principal was looming over me, brows creased.
“Why?”
Silence.
No reply.
I whimpered, but no explanation was offered.
The principal looked at me sternly.
“I…”
“I was playing in school…”
Before I could finish, he shrieked
“Yellow Card”
Present
I regretted coming.
Why had I thought of this? Why had I done something so dumb? Now my parents would kill me. I sighed. What great luck. It had to happen that the principal came.
Half an hour before
His stare a continued for eternity. Never ending. Motionless. I wanted to run away, but my legs stopped functioning, no blood in it. Suddenly, life seemed to unfreeze. My legs snapped into function, and I bolted away.
Left.
Right.
Around that.
Fake a turn.
He’s catching up.
Footsteps coming.
Out the gate.
Close it.
Out.
It won’t work, though, I thought as I caught my breath and my thoughts reformed themselves from liquid.
Present
Now I was deprived of privileges. And expelled. First student in decades! A cyclone of disgust and hate caught fire, and it turned into a fire storm. Why had I accepted TIm’s dare? I hated being teased, but was proving myself worth detention? Surely I would just get teased again.
Forty minutes before.
I crept into the playground, the Autumn leaves snapping under my footsteps. Nobody was here anyways. I had a go on the swings, took a few pictures and skateboarded on the ramp. now they could know.
Then, footsteps rustled in the leaves, and I sprinted towards the trees. Then, ebon enveloped me.
Present
My friends were wicked, I finally decided at last, as the last rays of sunshine streaked through the window, staining it orange. They weren’t real friends, only parasites to extract every useful trait and thing in me, then leave me to die.
I would never follow them; I would only fail more.
Present
I strolled into the playground, the metal glinting from the swings. The canvas of the sky was full of splotches of pink and scarlet, with the yellow orb falling below the horizon. Beads of sweat cascaded down my cheeks; the day had been harsh
Half an hour before
I was in trouble. The principal was looming over me, brows creased.
“Why?”
Silence.
No reply.
I whimpered, but no explanation was offered.
The principal looked at me sternly.
“I…”
“I was playing in school…”
Before I could finish, he shrieked
“Yellow Card”
Present
I regretted coming.
Why had I thought of this? Why had I done something so dumb? Now my parents would kill me. I sighed. What great luck. It had to happen that the principal came.
Half an hour before
His stare a continued for eternity. Never ending. Motionless. I wanted to run away, but my legs stopped functioning, no blood in it. Suddenly, life seemed to unfreeze. My legs snapped into function, and I bolted away.
Left.
Right.
Around that.
Fake a turn.
He’s catching up.
Footsteps coming.
Out the gate.
Close it.
Out.
It won’t work, though, I thought as I caught my breath and my thoughts reformed themselves from liquid.
Present
Now I was deprived of privileges. And expelled. First student in decades! A cyclone of disgust and hate caught fire, and it turned into a fire storm. Why had I accepted TIm’s dare? I hated being teased, but was proving myself worth detention? Surely I would just get teased again.
Forty minutes before.
I crept into the playground, the Autumn leaves snapping under my footsteps. Nobody was here anyways. I had a go on the swings, took a few pictures and skateboarded on the ramp. now they could know.
Then, footsteps rustled in the leaves, and I sprinted towards the trees. Then, ebon enveloped me.
Present
My friends were wicked, I finally decided at last, as the last rays of sunshine streaked through the window, staining it orange. They weren’t real friends, only parasites to extract every useful trait and thing in me, then leave me to die.
I would never listen to them; I would only fail more.
Mark this one instead.
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Week 4 writing
Westley W_K 4
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Week 4 writing
The Empty Playground
Claire waked cautiously around the park without a blink of an eye exploring curiously in the unknown park.
10 minutes later
She stared at the tiny berries growing on a bush. She carefully glared at the round, red tiny berry. She soon glared around at this abandoned playground, She heard nothing but the tiny sound on her footprints. Her foot steps weaving through the hard tree roots cautiously.
30 Minutes later
Claire rushes though the fog just to get a glimpse of a slide.
Rusty.
Plain.
Old.
Quickly shaking her head around she hears a tweet like a Cockatoo.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Tweet.
Claire sat down at a rusty chair with one side slightly tilting on the left. Claire got out her computer and starts wondering curiously why this park looked like this.
Under her foot the tiny crackles of leaves. She walked around once more looked at the purple lavender on the side of the footpath, something she never noticed before. Should she be hesitated or excited that she discovered this whole new playground, that was destroyed and abandoned. At this point Claire didn’t know what to think about this playground good, bad, surprised or even amazing.
On the right of the slide suddenly became unfoggy. All the Sunflowers started blooming and the slide looked slightly fixed.10 seconds later Claire started advancing curiously forwards onto the other side astonished.
She couldn’t believe her eyes.
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It was just before the last bit of sunlight seeped through, waving a last goodbye.
“Don’t you think it’s too dangerous?” father had said, his eyes were tense with worry.
I had asked to take a nighttime stroll, a simple question that filled every crease in my parents’ brain with doubt.
“At this time? When you can see nearly nothing? What happens if you make the wrong step?”
I insisted on going, pushing past the door and past the picture of Blake.
Blake had died due to drowning in a lake. That’s all I know. My parents would never sell information about him to other people, not even me.
“Be careful, James!” my mother called out from behind me.
I walked all the way to a nearby park.
The park was a monument to decay; the stench of unknown rotting objects was unbearable. Everything looked as if it was stopped in time. The seesaw stayed motionless, as the swing swayed in the wind, an endless pattern of going back and forth.
Back and forth, back and forth.
Near the park was a lake, the imposing water gushing down in a rush. The surface was impossibly perfect, as if the shine of the stars had been given to the water.
I was drawn to the entrancing lake, slowly making my way towards the water.
It was deep. Probably about 2 metres.
I suddenly fell in, my whole body flailing around.
Or that was what I thought.
It was my heart. My heart was trying to burst out of my chest.
My legs and arms had gone numb.
This is the end.
As I slowly fell to the bottom of the lake, the lake whispered into my ears that they did not kill Blake. He killed himself.
I went to ease and let the pain trapped in my heart free.
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My hw
The Playground At Dusk
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A snap of twigs behind me, the rustling of a bush. I yelp, swivelling around on my heels, glancing at the empty darkness. Nothing. I lick my dry lips, still staring at the bush and slowly turn back to face the rusty slide. It all feels too quiet. It all feels too dark. It all feels wrong.
Why am I here anyway? My mind pauses, like when you plunge your head underwater and everything is muffled and silenced and all you can think of is how unsettling it is, to have the buzzing world around you suddenly go completely quiet. I get my mind out of the water and answer my own question.
Because I can’t sleep.
I take in a deep shaky breath of cold air and I scratch my hands nervously.
The silence here is worse than underwater. You can’t even hear the murmurs of the world. The only thing you can hear is the faint whistling of the wind, which you wouldn’t hear at all if you didn’t try to. I realise I’m looking down at my fidgeting hands and pull my head back up.
And then suddenly, the silence fades away. There’s chattering and laughing and yelling. There’s sunlight and cloudless blue skies and the distant aroma of old books and oranges. The slide is no longer rusty, but a bright red. A young child, no older than 3, clambers onto the slide and wonders if he can go down it backwards or if that would get him in trouble. He does it anyway. He laughs in delight, crawling off the slide and climbing back onto it. That child is me. I rub my eyes, but the tiredness has faded away into the sunlight. I smile and reach out for the slide.
But then the sunlight flickers once, twice and then gets engulfed by the night’s shadows. My hand is on the rusty surface of the slide and I shied away from it, looking down at my dirty hands. I sigh and move on to the swings.
The wind is subtly pushing one of the swings forward and backwards and it creaks and groans, the wires slowly making faint snapping sounds like brittle ice. The sunlight is back and a boy runs onto the swings. He grabs hold of the wires, eagerly waiting for his brother to push him. His brother half-heartedly pushes the boy, watching him swing forward and backwards and forwards again. As the boy grows older and the yellow paint on the swings fade, he learns to push himself, using his feet to kick him off the ground, but that isn’t enough for him. He tries to go on the swing standing up, but his feet on the swing push him back, making the swing topple upside down and sending the boy landing on his arm. He starts to bawl his eyes out. I blink, looking down at my slightly crooked arm. It had healed at an angle because I kept on rubbing it against things to scratch it. A cold breeze hits me in the face, and the sunlight slides away. I inhale deeply. Maybe when the moments are really happening, you don’t realise how much you’d want to go back in the future, you don’t cherish them. You don’t realise that in 40 years, you might be thinking of those times and wishing the ebony black of the night would fade back into blue and the moon and stars would slither away and turn to sun and warmth. I think that’s enough for tonight. I slip my hands in my pocket and make my way home, smiling.
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The Playground
Present
I strolled into the playground, the metal glinting from the swings. The canvas of the sky was full of splotches of pink and scarlet, with the yellow orb falling below the horizon. Beads of sweat cascaded down my cheeks; the day had been harsh.
Half an hour before
The principal loomed over me, brows creased.
“Why?”
Silence.
I whimpered, but no explanation was offered.
The principal looked at me sternly.
“I…”
“I was playing in…”
Before I could finish, he exclaimed
“Red Card”
Present
I regretted coming.
Why had I thought of this? Why had I done something so dumb? Now my parents would kill me. I sighed. What great luck. It had to happen that the principal came for work at 4:21.
Half an hour before
His stare continued for eternity. Never ending. Motionless. I wanted to run away, but my legs stopped functioning,it was as if my blood and muscle had thawed. Then, life seemed to unfreeze. My legs snapped into function, and I bolted away.
Left.
Right.
Around that.
Fake a turn.
He’s catching up.
Footsteps coming.
Out the gate.
Close it.
Out.
I’m only escaping it for now, I thought as I caught my breath and my thoughts reformed themselves from liquid.
Present
First student in decades to get expelled. A cyclone of disgust and hate caught mixed with fire, morphing it into a fire storm. Why had I accepted TIm’s dare? I hated being teased, but was proving myself worth detention? Surely I would just get teased again for making trouble.
Forty minutes before.
I crept into the playground, the Autumn leaves snapping under my footsteps. Nobody was here anyways. I had a go on the swings, took a few pictures and skateboarded on the ramp. now they could know.
Then, footsteps rustled in the leaves, and I sprinted towards the trees. Then, ebony enveloped me.
Present
I lay defeated on my bead, furiously wiping tears from my scarlet face, simultaneously pulling my hair out. My friends were wicked, I finally decided at last, as the last rays of sunshine streaked through the window, staining it orange. It wouldn’t last fro long, just like my friendship with Tim. They weren’t real friends, only parasites to extract every useful thing in me, then leave me to suffer.
I would never listen to them; I would only stumble and fall once more.
The swings creaked in the wind, slow and uneven, like a breath half-remembered. Rust clung to the chains, flaking off in thin curls that shimmered faintly before the light swallowed them. The sun was already low, caught in the tangled branches beyond the fence, its orange glow slipping across the cracked rubber tiles and dying there, thin and tired.
Ella stood at the gate, her hand resting on the cool metal bar. The sign above her “Maplewood Community Park” had lost half its letters. They dangled from one screw, twisting back and forth. She pushed the gate open; it groaned the same way it used to when she and her brother had raced through it, years ago, their shoes kicking up dust.
Now, only her footsteps sounded.
The sandbox was still there, but someone had forgotten to cover it. The wind had smoothed it flat, no mountains, no trenches, no plastic soldiers buried mid-battle. A single shovel stuck up from the sand, tilted slightly as if waiting for a hand that would never come back. She crouched beside it and brushed the grains from its handle. The red paint had faded to pink.
A sudden laugh rose from the hill below, brief as a spark and was swallowed by the stillness. Ella looked up, expecting shapes to form out of the dark. But nothing stirred. Only the paired swings rocked in the wind, their hollow rhythm echoing in the emptiness.
The slide, once a bright blue ribbon, had dulled to the color of steel. She ran her fingers down the side, tracing a faint scratch shaped like a lightning bolt, her brother’s old mark of victory. She almost smiled as she remembered the way he used to climb to the top, daring her to follow, shouting her name into the twilight. She could still hear the echo, somewhere between the trees and the sky.
The air grew colder. Streetlights blinked on, one by one, until the whole playground glowed in patches of gold and shadow. Ella sat on the bottom step of the climbing frame. The metal was cold beneath her palms. She stayed there, listening, to the slow swing chains, to the whisper of leaves, to the space between sounds that felt like waiting.
The gate moved again behind her, just a breath of wind, just enough to make it sigh.
She didn’t look back because she could feel him waiting there, in the spaces between the swings, and some presences are not meant to be seen. Not until they forgive.
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An Empty Playground at Dusk
The swings creaked in the wind, slow and uncertain, whispering secrets to no one. Rusted chains caught the faintest scraps of light as the sky dimmed from gold to gray. Shadows from the climbing frame stretched across the cracked rubber mat, long and thin as old memories.
Mara let the gate rattle shut behind her. Once, she’d burst through it laughing, racing her brother to the slide. Now she moved as if the air were heavier here, thick with the ghosts of after-school shouts and scraped knees.
The merry-go-round stood still, its paint peeling in tired curls. She nudged it with her foot; it turned once, groaning, and the red horse’s eye—just a chip of black paint—seemed to stare back. For a moment, she could almost hear him laughing, daring her to make it spin faster.
She sat on a swing. The seat was cold, the chains stiff with rust. Pushing off gently, she swung once, twice, the motion small and uneven. The sound filled the silence that used to be noise: sneakers thudding, voices calling, the clink of metal against sky.
Her shoe traced circles in the dirt, erasing faint footprints that had long since faded.
The wind picked up. The swings shivered, as if remembering, too.
When she finally stood, she gave her swing a final push. It drifted forward, then back, slower each time, until it stopped completely—facing the way she had come.
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I climbed over the gate – rust and bits of weathered metal hanging onto the edges of the points where a lone crimson balloon strung. Hues of navy blue mixed with the red as the sun sunk below the horizon. My breath caught. The place had never been walked into for years, the smell of rotting timber engulfing me with an embrace. The merry-go-round still had faint bits of gold. The fake horses still had their matching flowered saddles. The streaks of red still decorated their hooves. I closed my eyes.
Children laughed, their smiles harmonizing with the music of the Beatles. Their saucer eyes glinted with a peaceful calm. The golden poles, newly painted, gleamed ethereally.
Reality snapped back.
The music was gone. The laughter was gone.
But the carousel was still moving. Wait, what? My heart skipped a beat.
Slowly…too slowly…each horse turning with a groan, as if waking from a long, unhappy sleep. The faintly golden poles no longer gleamed—they looked dull, scraped, as though something had climbed them with sharp fingers.
A cold shiver tiptoed down my spine.
The crimson balloon trembled on its string, though there was no wind.
And then I noticed it.
A single horse on the carousel…facing the wrong way.
Its painted head was turned toward me.
Its glassy eyes seemed to follow me, watching, waiting, as if it remembered those children too—children who might never have left.
The music box inside the carousel clicked once… twice…
and began to play a tune.
Not the Beatles.
Something slower.
Something that made my heart hammer like it was trying to escape.
I took one step back.
The carousel creaked to a stop.
Then a soft whisper brushed my ear, even though no one was behind me:
“You’re late.”
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Lakeshore Skirmish Grounds
Cooked. Nowhere to go. An alleyway with weathered bricks, unwanted litter, and grime covered the floor. I looked back, two teenagers, wearing sunglasses and masks were heading closer. One had a sledgehammer; the other wielded a rusty car exhaust pipe.
Half an hour earlier,
I looked up ahead. Lakeshore Sunshine Playground, the greatest playground in the city. Bins toppled over and overflowing with Rotten Scraps, a sign promoting Police Recruitment graffitied; “FILTHSHORE PIGS”, a slide with corroded metal, the swings rusty and sagging, and the paint faded and peeling.
I’ve been here once, when the building was freshly built, which was several years ago. Now, this area was ruled by gangs, and stepping into their park was like declaring World War III. All I had to do, was cross the park so I could make it back home. It’s now or never. I sprinted across the playground, ensuring not to trip over, and just before I got to the playground door on the other side, a voice cracked somewhere. “What do you think you’re doing? Scum?” I glanced around, heart beating at the speed of light. “I, I just w want t to go to the o other side.” I quivered, not daring to look up. A few teenagers laughed, and soon, another gangster broke the laughter. “This is a revolver.” He stated, pointing to a gun in his hand, which clearly had live rounds in it. My gut told me immediately, that something wrong was going to happen.
“Ever heard of Russian Roulette?” the thug questioned. I shook my head. Gambling with a gun, I’m guessing? That can’t be good. “Alright, I will load a live bullet into the chamber, spin it, and fire it in your head. You die, not my problem.” He mentioned. No, I could not accept such a thing. My cadets training instincts kicked in. I snatched the revolver out of the hands of the thug, ripped out the chamber, and with some effort, smashed it into pieces. I threw it into my pocket, and ran. I glanced back at the thugs, and three gangsters where hunting me down, dead or alive. One armed with a knife, another wielding a car exhaust pipe, the last with a sledgehammer.
I understood now, the playground was a skirmish ground, a territory s territory stripped of joy or sunshine. It was a fight to the death, and no one will save you. Not even LPD.
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