Asphalt Land

A group of disheveled kids clamored around a metal fence. Through the metal fence was a swing set, rusted, with red stripes racing along the side. They were five boys and two girls climbing across a pirate ship with rocket boosters, heading off to nowhere. They screamed as the younger ones tried to ride along side. Their bodies hopelessly falling wayside to the older one’s weight. Youth brought with it immunity to bodily pain. The younger ones climb back up again.

The man, who lived across the metal fence, was carrying around the morning paper. In order to save time, he subscribed to the carrier. It’s been a month, but he buys them anyways. He doesn’t read the paper. There was another paper jammed between the storm door and wooden one. He laid them side by side, the morning and evening paper. “Elephant Found Swimming in the Pacific Ocean.”

He went over to the kitchen without reading the story. There was nothing in the fridge. He left the house. It was dark outside. Across the street, the kids behind the metal fence were making indistinct screaming sounds. He looked back at his house. The lights were still on, but he left anyways.

The kids didn’t notice him from across the street. Neither did the kids standing in line at so and so fast food palace. The lights made everything look sterile. He stared at the signs while the woman behind him was edging her way closer to front. She strapped her child tightly across her chest. Behind her were three clawing children, each begging for attention in order to be ignored. Their calls were a familiar primal scream. He didn’t notice that they looked like the kids from across the street.

He ordered the same number three without pickles. There’s something about the texture that he couldn’t like. It was “to go”.

The girl at the cash register was trying to make conversation. He hadn’t seen her before.

“Did you read the newspaper this morning?”

“No”

“Well, apparently some guy in Oregon was deep sea fishing or something like that and like he found an elephant swimming in the Pacific ocean.”

Pause

“You don’t say.”

“Yeah, yeah, uhhhh, something about a gene mutation. God, you know, sometimes, I just can’t….”

Her voice tapered off. His food was ready. She handed it to him and smiled at the next customer. He walked outside, wondering if the burger was cooked on Teflon.

Outside the world became still and small. There were no longer any people on the streets, only empty benches to sit on. He reached down and felt that his food had grown cold. It left a grease stain on the paper bag. He walked on.

By the time he reached the house, the kids were gone. But he stood there watching as if they were still there. Imaging himself playing amongst the shadow. The only thing behind him was the house with the lights still on.