A bolt of lightning tore across the sky, lighting Clara's dim room for a moment. She huddled deeper into the duvet, her body trembling. There was a soft knock at the door and her heart skipped.
“Honey, are you okay?” Her mother called, pushing the door open with a gentle smile. Clara nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. “The storm will pass soon. Try and sleep, okay?”
“Okay, mummy.” She whispered, her voice thin and shaky. The door clicked shut and the silence made her pulse race harder.
Each time she closed her eyes, the scene replayed itself again as if it were happening afresh. She couldn't speak to anyone about it, not even her mother. Caro warned her not to, a thin finger pressed to her lips to emphasise her point.
Now Caro appeared, seated on the edge of the bed. She looked calm, her dark eyes fixed on Clara. Her skin shifted between milk-white and dull grey, sometimes showing a faint shimmer like the tiniest glitter had been dusted over her. Her white gown hid her toes and brushed the floor when she moved. Her lips were blackened and chapped as if she was always thirsty but Clara couldn't ask her that because Caro was always upset.
That night, she was calm.
“You saw me,” she said softly, “and you hid.”
Clara gulped, her eyes wide and pleading. “I didn't mean to….I don't know how I did it.”
“Because you are special.” Another flash of lightning lit up the room as both girls stared at each other. “You saw what the broken swing did…has been doing to children.”
Clara nodded. “I told my mum and she called the park manager. They promised to fix it—”
“But they haven't,” Caro snapped, her dark eyes flared and dimmed quickly. Clara sucked in a breath and gripped her duvet tighter. “We must do it ourselves….or else more children will get hurt.”
“How?”
“Tonight, Clara. Once the rain starts, use your window. I'll be waiting downstairs.”
Heavy drops of ran began to rattle against window. Caro gave her a knowing look and slowly faded away like mist. Clara pulled on her robe, threw a makeshift rope she'd made from tying old curtains together across the window and lowerd herself down into the dark.
The next morning at breakfast, her mother commented over tea that the broken swing was found uproot and torn out. The park management planned to fix a new one, safe for the children in the community. Clara nodded and bit into her sandwich with a sigh.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "the broken swing".
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Image by Karen Jack from Pixabay