I sit quietly in the confines of torment and loneliness. The black lead of past deeds weigh down my conscience, heavy.
I journey back to the last straw: the deserted playground. It lies grey, shrouded with ash. Barren of life. Uneven with craters and cauterized fissures (that smoked the organic remains of its blithely toddling inhabitants, under the watchful but helpless gaze of guardians). Scattered splinters of bleached bones and charred remains of the iron, wooden and plastic structures of play, stand out among the mass of debris.
It was first the chants, wrapped in childish glee; then the silencing volcanic eruption, trailed by the silence of momentary bewilderment…then the cries of loss; the swooping cameras – town criers; mourning cries; then the cyber and real world outrage.
But all these only watered our pride. “We did it again. They are, but, mere casualties for the greater good of attention and ultimate submission.” This mantra eased our sleep.
Then the deserted silence…but for the thumping pain in the innards of my aching soul.
On that spot, bearing the deepest crater of all, was where we planted our modified and timed ‘Jack-In-The-box’. Only the weary eyes of the morning moon witnessed this soulless act. After its count, beneath the glare of the stoic midday sun, ‘Jack’ loudly sprouted and consumed fiercely, all colours of gaiety…
Two suns burnt that day.
This stone cold face melts into heart felt tears. I shall make peace. That tree’s strongest arm shall be the neck to wear tightly this necklace, of which I shall be the lone dangling pendant…
Hoping this sacrifice, for they, finally clears me light.