Jon Paul Anderson

Train Tracks in a Blue Sky

1 If he had any foothold, it was fucking gone now. He lay there, the sun surrounded by the most brilliant blue sky he had ever seen—it was really quite striking. Five balloons hung above him blocking the sun playing a puffy-faced-peekaboo, their puckered frowning mouths surrounded by stringy swaying hair. A drop of sweat landed on his forehead, another near his mouth. Fucking gross. Five sets of eyes gazing down on him—observing and… triumphant? He wasn’t sure. Not a single hand from his hovering classmates went out to help. He could see hatred in those eyes—in their souls. He had been winning. He was sure. How long had he been laying there? Monkey bars cut like train-tracks across the blue sky. Oooofff! A pain in his chest—did he get stabbed, impaled? He folded in on himself, his arms falling away heavy with a weakness. They wouldn’t go that far would they?