100 word story (#5)

Their fathers snoozed, dreaming good wars. Nothing so real in civvy street: somnolent Saturdays and clockwork commutes. Cities slumbered.

Outside: bombsites, deserted streets, untended commons. Freewheeling in space-time, days became places to buildchaseclimbhideraceriderunskatechatter without let or hindrance: holy grounds within their hearts.

But clocks still tick and now their stamping-grounds are bulldozed flat and featureless. By officious command, adventure is confined in playgrounds. Streams no longer teem with frogs and newts and sticklebacks nor whisper to be dammed with mud. Water won’t trickle through fingers six feet underground in silent culverts.

And their Trees uprooted? How are the Mighty fallen?

 

Image result for freedom

 

Image: Tim Hill Psychotherapy

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13 thoughts on “100 word story (#5)

  1. Yes, I remember the bomb sites. And the disused railway tunnel. And the fenced off valley with trees and bushes hiding the ruins of a small house, one wall still standing. They were far more fun than the pleasure parks. (nostalgic sigh)

    1. I would say so, too, but with my usual glass-half-full bumptiousness would add that the darkest hour is just before the dawn. Perhaps we’re sad because we’ve woken up to harsh reality … anyway, cue song!

  2. Isawthecleverwayyoumadeyour100wordessayDave. It’s so hard not to hit the space button. So many places bull dozed over and painted green. Thankfully, there are still places where children (and Curt) can run free. –Curt

    1. Haha, rumbled! And here’s me trying to pass it off as alternative and avant garde … ah well, will have to paint it green. Love that idea, Curt, by the way – it skewers the tokenism that too often passes for environmental action. Here’s to running free!

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