The Tragic Playground

By David Ball

I cheerfully ran up the steps eager to finally be able to descend the slide. I loved coming to the park and playing on the old playground. The paint was worn out and it peeled every time it was agitated. The swing set was crooked, and it squeaked every time I pumped my legs pretending to fly. The slide was the color of dead grass which had been faded by the sun’s rays. It was the oldest most rundown park in Ohio and yet, I still loved it. I played there day after day. Year after year, until the sun would set I would sprint home gleefully.


Today was just like any other day. I would go about my business until the time came to leave. I had so much independence, so much freedom so I had to be a bit concerned when my mother showed up at the park two hours before sunset. I attempted to elude her for my time wasn’t yet up. The sun was still clear over head. I continued to amuse myself by watching the fascinating boy jump off the structure. After a couple of minutes I was struck with boredom so I decided to go see what my mother was up to. I stopped, frozen in my path as I heard sobs coming from my mom. “What is it mother?” I yelled shakily.


“It’s your brother,” she replied. “He has cancer. The doctor said it is a horrible condition. They may not be able to stop it.” I stood there frozen trying to grasp the concept that I could not accept. The memory of a happy old playground had transformed. Now it was the place where my tragedy began.