Sandcastles

Disclaimer: All characters are fictional. Any resemblance to real or imagined persons is purely coincidental. Do not use any portion of this work or its characters without permission.

This is a story in the point of view of a pedophile. Nothing graphic will happen, but the pyschological nature of it makes it dark and not suitable for underaged readers.

Sandcastles

I sit at this park bench everyday, just when school gets out and the after school program arrives. I know it’s wrong and even perverse, but this one little girl always captures my eye. She’s the opposite of the girl I watched in the spring, the sweet, little blonde I watched across town for weeks. No, this girl’s pale face is framed by black, thin like silk hair and it draws me here day after day. I often imagine what it would be like to take her home with me.

Yet I know I’d taint the very thing I come to witness day in and day out. Her very innocence drives me to this park bench in the park where she plays with her peers. They play on swings quite often. I stay behind, after they’ve gone home, imagining the empty swings swaying from their child force over them.

Every day, at precisely three thirty in the afternoon, the school bus drops her off at the park with about fifteen other children for after school activities Along with them is two, young teachers. They often appear as more of a babysitting party than an after school program. Sometimes they will have activities that all the children participate in, ranging from tag and dodge ball to creative crafts. More often than not, they let the children run loose in a free for all at the playground. That’s when the girl I watch becomes her most tantalizing.

She clutches a lunch pail adorned with some cartoon character I do not recognize, a purple backpack adorned with little pink teddy bears and a light jacket each day when she exits the bus. Knowing she’s only in fourth grade, I can’t imagine what she puts into the thing. I figure it’s more of a showpiece as most backpacks at that grade level are. She drops both lunch pail and backpack by the big oak tree next to the swing set until it is time for her mother to take her home. From there, she will plant herself in the sand box on the other side of the swing set.

She enjoys creating things in sand. She often creates such intricate things with those two tiny hands of hers I often wonder what they’d be like on flesh. They’d have to be soft and smooth unmarred by years of labor. I often take pictures of the sand castles she creates once she leaves, before anyone can destroy them. I have a lovely collection of them---nearly fifty.

The little girl often brings a small doll with her. It sits next to her as she creates in the sand. Unlike her, the doll has blond hair and blue eyes and wears a blue smock. Not a day goes by where she doesn’t carry the small doll to the park with her. I watch as she talks to the doll, explaining what she’s doing with the sand.

Often other children attempt to distract her from her work. Sometimes they are successful, other times they are not. She often will give up her creative force for playing tag and I enjoy watching her laugh and play almost as much as I enjoy the sand castles she leaves behind.

Her light laughter fills the air and is not full of underscored meaning as adult laughter often is. Much like everything else, attracting me to this young fourth grader, her innocent laughter adds to this ever-growing appeal and enchantment she holds over me. Although, I do often wonder what it would be like to have possession of this very girl---in a so adult, perverse way. Shattering her innocence and destroying the spectacle of it keeps me at bay.

Checking my watch, I notice that she is a little late today. I notice that the bus is still there and perhaps she is still waiting to get off the bus. That’s when I see her crouched not far from a bus tire. She has dropped her doll and is trying to retrieve it. I realize that the bus driver has no way of noticing the small child about to be crushed beneath his wheels.

Dropping the book in my lap onto the bench, I rush over, waving my arms to get his attention before he pulls forward. I snatch the small girl away from the tire, half of her doll clutched in her hands. Her cries of surprise and then of grief over her fallen comrade fills my ears. Running from the bus back to my park bench, I set her down. It’ll be at least two hours before her mother arrives to take her home. Now that I have her sitting with me, I’m not quite sure what to do. I just saved her life after all and the scare she’s given me leaves my heart beating fast.

It would be so easy for me right now to pick her up and take her home. Yet, when those dark eyes look up into mine filled with sorrow over her doll and gratitude over my rescue, I know for now that if I were to spoil her I’d lose all joy out of watching her day in and day out. “Poor Bethie. She’s hurt!” Her little girl voice sounds even more childlike as she vocalizes her sorrow. She clutches the severed doll body to her chest. “She’ll never be able to walk again.”

I remain speechless, unsure of how I should respond to such comments. I had saved her life and yet I had failed in saving Beth the Doll’s. The little girl looks down at Beth, into her grease-smeared face as the woman heading up her after school program along with the bus driver approach. “Anna! Are you all right? You shouldn’t run out into the street like that!”

The little girl looks up into the concerned faces of the adults. “But Beth was caught under the tire.” She burst into tears, clutching the remaining half of her doll.

“Anna that could have been you. Now, come along.” The woman leads her away, towards the group of children waiting for their craft to begin. Anna glances over her shoulder at me once before following her teacher, sobbing as she drags her feet behind.

“I’d like to thank you for saving that child. I had no idea she was even there.”

“I couldn’t let her get killed. I did what anyone would have done if they had seen a small child trying to get something from under a bus tire.” I downplayed my involvement in her rescue so I could return my focus back onto the craft the children worked on and Anna, still sobbing over the death of Beth.

“I still thank you for having the courage to act. Thank you.” As the man walks back to the bus, I shift my eyes back towards Anna. The woman consoles her, attempting to get her involved with the craft. They are working on pictures of leaves and pumpkins from what I can tell at this distance as some of the children proudly display them above their heads.

Anna bolts from the table, heading towards the sand box. Obviously, she has had enough of this craft and would much rather be alone. She shifts her direction, straight for me and stops, mutilated Beth still clutched in her small fist. She tugs on my hand and points towards the sand box with Beth. “Would you like to make a sand castle with me?”

Looking into her anticipating face, I give in. “Sure, I’d love to.” While it might seem a fantasy come true, I enjoy watching her at work and I fear the impulses I might have being in such close proximity of her.

She tugs on my hand, leading me to the empty sand pit. Sitting down, she starts clearing sand from in front of herself into a large pile. I follow her example, making a similar pile. It’s the same pattern she follows every day when she creates her sand creations.

“Do you like to play in the sand, mister?” She starts to form shapes in the space she’s cleared. Her hair shields her face from me, but I can imagine that her expression is one of concentration.

I’m not quite sure how to answer the small child’s question so I follow her example, making similar mound shapes in the construction area. “Yes, I do enjoy playing in the sand.” I finally answer, not wanting to upset her.

She looks up, smiling wide at me, pushing her pile of sand into mine to form a large one. Then she cups her hands around the heap, smoothing her side. “Smooth your side out so it’s round. Then we’ll start building things on top of it.”

I begin rounding the edges of my side to mirror her side. She continues smoothing the edges on her side, softly humming to herself. I watch her more than paying attention to what I’m doing when she says, “Be careful.” She returns to smoothing the top of the sand mound. “What’s your name? My name is Anna.”

“John.” I shape the edges until they’re round as she starts to put small piles of sand on top of it. I watch her, waiting for directions on what she would like to do next with the sand castle we are building. Anna starts smoothing that over on top, until it’s only another layer on top. Then she takes sand out of the middle, hollowing it out.

Anna pushes the discarded sand aside towards the large pile she made originally earlier before clearing the space we’re constructing on now. She looks up, smiling before taking a small fist full of sand and rubbing it over the edge she’s constructed. It appears that today she’s making a tower.

“John, do you like to be in the park? I do. It’s a fun place to go after school.” She puts another layer of sand on the tower walls.

“Yes. It’s a nice place to sit and think.” I smile, trying to mask my ulterior motives from the innocent and naïve girl. “I’m sure it’s fun to play here, too. Although I’m awfully big for a lot of the things here.” I start taking sand from my pile and pat some sand into the walls of the tower.

Anna taps some sand into place. “Why do you say that?”

I laugh softly, looking around at the swings and the slide. I know I’d most likely get stuck inside the tube slide if I even dared to slide in it. I’m a grown man, after all and it looks like as it is meant for small children. “Well, I’m much too big for a lot of the things here, that’s all.”

Anna nods, patting more sand into the top of the tower until it’s high enough for her taste. She makes a ball of sand in her hands, gently setting it on top of a portion of the wall. There, she sculpts it into the rest of the sand, making a square jutting off the top of the tower. She repeats the process, urging me to follow.

Gripping some sand into my hands, I form a ball, placing it on top of the tower wall, forming a square cube much as she had done. While I’m doing this, she starts making tiny windows on the outside of the castle. All the times I’ve watched her do these things, up close to her makes it all that more fascinating to me. Her tiny hands mold the sand into spectacular shapes that I’m sure one day she’ll make a fine artist if she keeps this imagination of hers.

I’ve become too distracted by her actions and cause my cube to crumble, falling inside of the tower. She shakes her head, shaping a cube to replace the one I carelessly knocked over. Then, she starts carving a moat out around the tower. I follow suit, throwing sand to the pile I had made originally. I hope I don’t bump the tower, knocking it down. It seems my large hands were not made for the sand.

Anna then sculpts a door in the tower, slowly forming a half oval door way. From there, she builds a bridge from the door to the other side of the moat. She fills in the area in front of the door with sand so it will stand up; it looks as if the tower is open to visitors. At this point, I’ve given up helping, knowing if I even touched a speck of sand it’d fall apart upon itself.

“Anna!” I hear her mother call to her just as she applies the finishing touches. Anna resembles her mother very much, from the dark hair to the pale skin. “Who is that you’re playing with, honey?”

I stood up, brushing my pants off. Before I could introduce myself, Anna piped in, “He saved me from the bus. But Beth didn’t make it. Miss Jenkins told me that he was a nice man.”

“Oh? What do you mean he saved you from the bus?”

“Beth got caught under the wheel of the bus and I tried to get her back out. John pulled me away from the bus before I could get runned over.” She then pats the final touches into the sand castle.

“Anna! How many times have I told you not to go after things dropped by the bus?” She turns towards me. “Thank-you for saving her. I don’t know how to repay you for it.”

“It wasn’t anything, really. Any other adult with a heart and common sense would have done what I did.” I step back from the sand castle, making sure I didn’t cause it to crumble. “Making this castle with her was enough, although I must admit my hands are a little too large.”

Her mother laughs. “Anna, it’s time to go home. Thank you again for saving her the way you did.” She grasps Anna’s hand, leading her away. I hear her chide Anna as she approaches the car. As I look around the park, I realize that no one is paying any attention to me. I take out my camera from my pocket, photographing the artfully sculpted castle in the sand. Just one grain missing could cause it to fall in on itself. I’m going to prevent that from happening any time soon.