My mind was moving faster than my body. I wanted to play in the swing so bad but my feet weren't moving fast enough. I put my bum down on the small strip of plastic. Ran back and I started to swing. 1 swing, I was excited. 2 swings, I was getting higher. 3 swings, I was starting to get a little to high. 4 swings, I was on the ground. For a second everything was fine until I felt a sering pain in my back. I couldn't move. Pain was all through my body. I wonder what mum would...
I let out a heavy sigh as I stepped over the cobwebs, allowing myself to have a moment of preparation. The swing rocked softly in the wind, beckoning me closer to its creaking gears. A piece of fabric rustled, caught in the links of the toy. I rushed towards it, snatching the piece of fabric from the wind, as it threatened to engulf it. The only piece of evidence that Mary had been here.
I stalked home, allowing myself to breathe, as I saw the missing posters pasted on the wall. The evidence would never be found, they would never...
she couldn't do it. her moist, clammy hands clung to the wooden pole with vicious might as she drew in intermittent, ragged breaths. the sweat dripped restlessly down her breast, sticking her shirt to her chest like a vulgar plastic case. her hands tightened around the weapon, her fingers wrapping around the cylindrical end as she struggled to raise it above her petite body. this was it. it had to be done. she clenched her eyes shut, sucked in a breath of dusty air and swung
"Swing." She watched her daughter, ignoring the wails and screams.
"Push me Mom!"
"No. Lean back and put your legs out. Then lean forward and pull them back."
"PUSH me MOM! NOW!"
"No. Lean back then forward. You can do it yourself. You will go higher then. Higher than even I can push you."
"MOMMY! Push me!"
"No. You need to be able to do it yourself." She watched as her daughter swung her uncoordinated legs about before giving up.
"Mommy! It DOESN'T work!"
"Let me show you. See! If I lean back and forth the swing goes without someone...
The sky was blue, the grass was green and the little clouds were as fluffy as the picture in a child's reading book. All was well with the world. And on her swing, she could see above the park, above the neat hedges and the flowering bushes. She could, as she swung higher still, see over the row of terraced houses and into the street beyond. Over the flowering cherry trees and the neat gardens with their blossoming plants, over the heads of the middle class and middle aged gardeners and housewives and shoppers and busy bodies of the suburban...
Swing with me friend. Come on to the cosmic dance floor of life and death, and dance. There are things there that can only be seen on the dance floor. The things you'll see there are both magical and yet still very plain once you get used to it you may say how can anyone get use to it well my friend I am Death and I've been here a long time now. Let's dance now and you can Live for a while longer. Swing friend Swing.
But I call it "swing theory." It's sort of an uneducated, improvised explanation of how everything clicks. How one digs the atom. Why one gets so coo-coo for photons. What hip event is on the horizon.
It's crazy, baby. Quantum bums.
Swing. That was what we did every time we danced. We'd grab hands and swing each other around with all our might, laughing all the while. Everyone made sure to stay clear when we hit the floor. Once, he dropped me. It was unexpected, a fluke. We were swinging, like always, when, suddenly, he let go. All i felt beneath me was the cold hard floor. After that incident, we stopped swinging for a while. We'd get onto the dance floor, and everyone would run clear, but all we'd do was kinda sway and maybe do a little hip-hop. After...
Swing.
I would sneak out my window at night when both my parents were asleep. I'd walk the block and a half to the schoolyard, sit in the middle swing of the playground and sing to myself until he got there. Then he'd push me gently to and fro while we talked about the day, about tomorrow, and the tomorrows after that.
Swing.
We met that way for a year until his parents found out and installed alarms on all their windows and doors. They thought it was drugs, or teenage trouble he was after. But it was just to...
Swing.
Pump your legs, stretch your shoulders back, breathe the joyful rush of air, and swing.
Lift your front leg, lean back, transfer your weight towards the ball, and swing.
Grab a partner, shake your hips, move your feet, and swing.
Mind your temper. Think back to happier days: swing sets and baseball games and high school dances.
Be calm. Forgive. Consider the consequences. And if that fails...
Say your prayers, keep your dignity, savour that final sensation of the rope around your neck, and...
swing.