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?

Oooofff!!!! An eight-year-old having a heart attack. Crazy but somehow true, he felt it. The Five weren’t going to help. He was going to die. Die die. Panic ran up and up, compounding to a sparkling stream of adrenaline. The muscles in his back buckled, heaving him hard. Time moved backward.

His belly filled with air “oooooohhhhhHHHHHH!!!!,“ he inhaled deeply. Life came back in glorious coughing whoops, the magic sparkle dimming to a cool spring day of playground and recess.

“Air knocked out.” Robert, the fat dumb one, said and spit.

2

He couldn’t remember why they started playing this war game, but he knew he wanted to win. And he was. He was a good student, really good. The teacher liked him. And he had friends. He got along with the girls too. He was one of 13 in his 4th grade class, four girls and nine boys. They would have movie nights and play in the forest, ride bikes and play video games. They had their entire school lives to get along.

His team, The Six, had The Dingus—the MacGuffin they fight over. That was it, that was the game, and it had gone on for days. Every recess, all recess and it had become more deliberate, more cruel each day.

He wiped the spit from his face and opened his eyes. The Five still hovered, staring down. He looked past the bobbing heads up into the still blue. Some of the near-death sparkle remained, like he may still depart on the train tracked monkey bars. The last thing he remembered, he captured The Dingus.

3

He told them all to go fuck themselves. The surprise at such vulgarity had won him the idol, winning the power for his team, The Six. They were made up of mostly the cool kids: one-day popular jocks and the well liked normies.

Jessica and Anne, the two girls who decided to play, were part of The Five. They were kind to him, more so than he deserved. And the other two girls scared him. But he liked them.

He stole The Dingus from Jessica—a slight girl adorned in Little House on the Prairie dresses that took washings of mud surprisingly well. He liked her. Really liked her. Why did he take it? He couldn’t remember, but he had. And he ran like a fool taking off across the playground, drunk with power waving the god-damn idol above his head. He was going for it, all the way to the top.

He approached the far end of the schoolyard, panting like a dog. He had to pass the two sports fields to get to the sandbox up an incline. Giant railroad ties cemented into fencing holes formed two 10-foot high Lincoln Long towers for climbing. One tower had an awkward rope ladder. The other tower had a 4-foot wide metal slide built for daring escapes. The two towers were connected by the monkey bars, his train tracks. It seemed where a king would go, so he went. And he made it--all the way to the top. Until his greasy-eager fingers slipped and ended up falling to the hard-packed ground.

Train tracks in a blue sky. A barn owl flew into view in slow-motion, knowledgeable and foreign. In its talons, a sunning snake who met its end, blood bright red and dripping. Unusual to see this nocturnal animal out in broad daylight--unless in times of need.

He liked Anne too, the other girl of The Five. She was tall, quiet and thoughtful. And Brady, he had a weird smell, but they had movies in common. The other two were fine too. He liked all of them. His heart softened.

Letting out a cry, the owl pushed its wings hard and was gone.

4

He took a deep breath and stood up.

He looked at all of them. They were his friends, they grew up together. Tiny faces all around. They looked back at him.

“I THINK WE SHOULD STOP PLAYING THIS DUMB SHITTY GAME!” he yelled.

The Five looked at him, anger on their faces.

He turned and looked far across the baseball diamond to the football field. His team, The Six looked back at him with blank faces. Andy, the future-quarterback one, had The Dingus. The others stood around him triumphant. He yelled in protest. Andy and the others shrugged. Jason, the future-steroid one, flipped him off as they turned back to their spoils.

Robert, the fat one, hit him square in the eye. He heard “Fuck’n retard” as the world swam black. He crumpled, his hands covering a fractured eye-socket, his head moving toward his knees, the world swaying. He thought he might die again.

He didn’t.

He took a deep breath, pulled himself up, ready to fight.