Adolescent Solitude

Adolescent solitude, like a baby abandoned in a park swing. How could somewhere so colourful, so beautiful and vibrant, become such a daunting threat? Thick, stiff red ropes; a winding structure connected by brassy solid casing, that reflect the beaming sunlight into my tearful, tired eyes. Sandpit. The closest I'll ever get to the beach. It looks so inviting, with its smooth and runny texture, theraputic to touch with my paralysed, frozen fingers; just add water and I'll have myself the raw and infalliable materials, to build my new home here.

The park fences posess small gaps that taunt and tease me, because they know, how I know, that I'll never be able to fit through them. They're imprisoning me, but I don't know why. The park gate is stocky and broad, shut tight and difficult to shift. The black glossy finish on the iron bars intimidate me and tough and bold, like a policeman; judging people closely, speculating every detail, trying to figure out who belongs where. If I focus on the gate for too long, it attempts to engulf me into total madness - so it's best that I just avoid it completely.

I kneel in the sandpit, as stealthy as a cat; nobody understands the power and unpredictability of these bars as well as I do. I glare at the gate, refusing to give in to the welcoming state of insanity, as it is mocking me, tediously. I daren't move now, I'm too afraid to reveal my true intensions. I'm embarrassed and completely alone; crows gather in masses of crispy weathered feathers. A sea of demeaning sorrow and an audience to my battle that will soon be my death bed.

The moist earth conceals no hint of a blade of grass, as if the sun has never gazed upon this place, even once. All sweetness has been sapped by selfish energies created at the beginning of time when my species introduced sinning to the world - perfection didn't deserve this. The ground has no idea what it's missing.

I long to escape, to be free and endure experiences I can't imagine, and it's all behind that gate! Elegant candy floss trees and harmless little honey bees.

The matt silver slide has been left dented with patchy streaks of mud; like the shell of a battered child. I don't want to end up like that. The see-saw screaches and a gush of sharp wind howls and bellows as it darts around the fence. The wind roars through my strangs of hair and a chill surprises me by seizing my neck with an unplesant sensation up my spine. Slowly, I lose the will to try. So much effort but so little gain. A tiny space on earth with very little ambition, where kids like me cream; it is too vague to tell whether they're in pain from minor wounds or running from daddy's grizzly grasp...

Reminising. How could somewhere so gloomy, so frightening and depressing, become such an overpowering trigger to unlock these childhood memories? I eventually acknowledge the size of the swing. I turn to the sky as the clouds brake up and release glorious sun rays once again; it embraces upon me like a gift from heaven - it gives me courage to face the gate for the final round.

I hold the gate handle for a brief moment. A strange love, rushes through my thoughts and flows into my veins - I hold on tighter, not wanting to let go. It holds back. A child, holding on tenderly to it's mother, to be close and never get lost, to never be alone - it's greatest fear... Adolescent solitude.