The Flashback

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man at the park draws attention to himself, since he does not have any children, and appears to be watching them, while experiencing a flash back from his past.

Submitted: March 24, 2014

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Submitted: March 24, 2014

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“You can't catch me Mary!” screamed the little girl in a red jacket, who ran across the playground, screaming from the thrill of being chased during a game of tag as though her life were in danger.

Those driving pass the park would see a group of a dozen children, ages ranging from four to nine years of age, climbing, running, and jumping off the playground equipment. They would see children dressed in autumn proof clothing, having fun, and enjoying the innocence of their youth. It was a natural sight to see, a view that was shared by every individual who made their way passed a playground, however, it was my presence that would draw the acute attention of anyone to this play ground.

I was sitting at the back of play ground on a bench that was stationed in a direction that had been designed to provide a full view of the playground for those who sat there. I was an adult, in my late-twenties, who wore all black, watching each of the children with acute curiosity, but the most disturbing aspect of my presence was that fact that I did not have any children. I was simple observing someone else's bundles of joy.

I had been sitting on the bench for nearly half an hour, drawing the gaze of a few parents who had accompanied their children to the park. These parents sat on the opposite side of the park, on their own benches, glancing at their children, and then at me the way any parent does when they sense their might be potential danger lingering nearby their child. I ignored their gazes, keeping my eyes locked on one child that had drawn my attention ever since I had arrived at the park. In fact, she was the reason I had stayed longer than usual to watch them, when I had really intended to stay for a mere ten minutes and then move on my way. It's funny how plans change because it was nearly half an hour later and I was still at the park.

It was the little girl in the red jacket. She had short, brown hair that ceased at her ear lobes and wore a black hat that concealed her short hair. She was smaller than the other children, leading me to believe that she had been born premature, and as a result it led for her to be shrunken in size. This didn't necessarily interfere with her ability to be a child because she ran freely around the play ground as though she wasn't any different from the other children.

After catching a clear glimpse of her face, a flood of memories over poured me, forcing me to acknowledge the reason I had been so captivated by the little girl. She shared a striking resemble to my ex-wife. The pair weren't in any way, shape, or form related, but had they shared similar characteristics that had reminded me of a younger version of my ex-wife that I had seen in the photos she use to show me.

An intrusive black and white image invaded my thoughts, revealing my hands covered in thick, red blood, as it dripped off my hands. My breathing was heavy, I was in my apartment building, my wife's dead body lying motionless on the ground as a pool of blood drained its' self from her body. My mind flashed like photographs, revealing several snap shots of her body from different angles, refusing to censor any brutality of the sin I had committed.

“Watch out!” shouted a small voice.

My mind ripped me from my flashback, taking me back to the presence. I was sitting at a park, on a bench, with a cool autumn breeze, gently stinging my exposed face. There had been a voice, it was the voice of a child, no one other than the little girl with the red jacket who had cried out to me.

Something gently hit my foot and I looked down to see it was small, orange ball that I had seen the children tossing around earlier when I had arrived at the park. I reached down, picking up the ball, while the little girl in the red jacket approached me absent-mindlessly.

It was one of the downfalls to being a child, they lived innocently, which is dangerous when you live in a world that feeds off the innocent, manipulates, and torments them. The girl's face was flushed red from the exposure to the cold and she breathed heavily, approaching me with out reached hands.

“Sorry, Mister. Mary threw it over here,” she spoke in her tiny voice.

“It's okay,” I said trying to sound as friendly as possible, which turned out to be a challenge since there wasn't anything friendly about me. I handed the little girl the ball, causing her to take it gingerly, but before she could run off I asked. “What's your name?”

“Melissa,” she said, revealing a mouth full of missing teeth. “I'm Melissa Fairbanks.”

“What a pretty name...,” I said, allowing my voice to trail off as I placed my hand against the little girl's, surprisingly warm cheek. “...you remind me of my wife, but the last time I touched her face, it was cold like ice.”

Another intrusive image flooded my mind, displaying scenes prior to my wife's death, that revealed me insanely stabbing her repeatedly as she wailed in pain. It was as if my mind was a director, organizing the scenes of the murder and depicting them from different angles as though it were a never ending movie that would play forever in my mind. Scenes of blood splashing for various angles, splashing against all four walls of the room, draining onto the floor, smearing against myself, until the final stab to the heart caused my wife's body to go limp as she slide from my grasp onto the floor.

From the corner of my eye, I could catch sight of the parents panicking, moving from their seats, a few heading to the play ground to grab their own children, while the parent of the little girl I was talking to was jumping from their seat and headed in my direction.

“Mister, your hand is cold.” said the little girl, who watched me confusedly through glassy blue eyes. “Why don't you wear any gloves?”

I carefully slide my hand from her face, trying to regain composure of myself. I flashed my fake, friendly grin, aware that her parent was barely ten feet away from us.

“Trust me, wearing even if I wore gloves my hands would still be cold.”

“Melissa!” shouted her anxious parent. “We're going home, right now, come on!”

“Coming,” Melissa yelled over her shoulder. She glanced over at me and smiled. “Bye Mister.”

The little girl quickly ran off into the safety of her parent, who took hold of her hand tightly, glancing over their shoulder at me disapprovingly, while whispering sternly to their child in a way that parents do when trying to warn their children something. Within five minutes, every parents at the park had packed up their children and their belongings and they were rapidly fleeing from the park in a causal, rushed kind of way. It was the kind of way people move when they're trying to act calm, when in reality they're running inside of their minds.

The park was empty, leaving the sounds of the wind, as they gradually nudged a few items on the play ground equipment. I sat alone on the bench for several minutes, until the sound of nearby police sirens became my incentive to get up and move.

As I walked out of the park, I catch sight of a flier that been attached to a tree with my face printed on the front, and listed a warrant for my arrest.


© Copyright 2018 Daisy Ink. All rights reserved.

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