The spliff flared and hissed at midnight, lighting up Joel’s sharp features. He passed the butt to another hand hard as his own, exhaled, and pushed the swing back. The chains were icy in his fingers, but the pain felt good.
Worn black Converse kicked the October ground, speed to his flight.
The swing next to him groaned to life, and for awhile, the night’s only song was the screech of metal against metal. They rose higher and higher, until they jumped and landed hard. The swings clapped against each other. Spent roach sailed and snuffed.
School’s out forever.
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2023)
Carrot Ranch Prompt (03/13/2023): In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about a place where children once played. It can be a field, a playground, or any place that attracted children to play. But now it is empty. Abandoned. Go where the prompt leads!
Valley of the Trolls 
Great story, Liz. That one last swing before leaving was deeply significant to me too.
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Thank you Nicole. Glad it resonates!
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Gritty story with just right gritty details. The unsaid makes it the more powerful.
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Thanks! Seemed to fit a mood from the prompt post…
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I missed the part about the spliff, but yeah.
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Lol. Quick mention.
Yeah, what else do the dispossessed & aged out do while waiting for the world to change?
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I’ve never read such a piece about swings and swinging before, but you captured the joy and the loss all in one. Such imagery.
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Thank you Norah, for reading & commenting!
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My pleasure, Liz.
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A metaphorical piece- I like it.
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Thanks, Kate!
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Loved the details and the memories it brought back to me.
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Happy to hear that!
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It is indeed….
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