At the Jungle Gym... (Take One)
by gkmoberg1

Characters and story belong to J. A. Lindqvist of Sweden.
The fingers that typed this fanfic belong to me.

Tuesday
October 20, 1981

In the sparse light of the inner courtyard, a boy stalked out of an entrance door and then across the left-strewn, cold ground. As he approached the swings and play set in the center he looked around furtively at the windows of the buildings that surrounded this little island. He saw nobody; he heard nothing but the gentle night breeze. Continuing, he crossed over the sandbox, leaving imprints of his Keds in the sand, and made his way over to a pair of trees. They stood like sentries in the very middle. There he waited, throwing glances up at the buildings. But all remained quiet.

Time passed. The swaying of the courtyard's upper tree branches gave a slow movement to the patterns of shade and light, but nothing else moved. He watched the tendrils of his breath form in the air, glide away and diminish. To warm his toes he tried curling and releasing them within his sneakers, but this was little help.

After waiting for several more minutes while leaning against one of the two center trees, he reached into the pocket of his winter coat and pulled from it a short knife. With his opposite hand he removed the leather blade cover and slid this back into this coat. The glint of the steel blade caught his eye and the handle felt good in his hand.

Stepping then away from the tree, he turned about and struck hard with the knife. "Squeal! Squeal like a pig," he said, thrusting the point of the blade into the tree. Then "Pig. Go on, squeal some more," he said as he delivered further thrusts of the blade into the tree.

The blade was solid and the knife felt right to him. He held it up to his face and admired the edge of it while gently and carefully gliding his opposite index finger along its length. He was careful not to slice himself but instinctively he put the finger to his mouth once he finished the stroke and gave it a gentle taste. No blood. He lowered the knife for another thrust.

But then came a sound from behind him. He hesitated a moment but heard nothing more. Suspicious, he turned anyway and looked. The sandbox and swings were empty. The jungle gym looked empty. Or was it? He looked carefully and thought he might be seeing the form of something at its top.

Stepping away from the tree he moved towards the jungle gym, knife still in his favored hand and giving him confidence. Indeed, there was a form. A kid. How or when that happened, he didn't know.

"You," he said, looking now tight upwards to the top of the jungle gym. "Who are you?" The little figure did not move. As the light and shade of the courtyard lighting continued its slow gentle movements he caught better glimpses of the figure. It was a girl. Young, but not a child. But also likely not his age or older.

"I'm talking to you," he said a bit louder.

"I know," came the reply. The voice was not what he was expecting for a kid girl.

"What are you doing there?"

"What are you doing there?" she asked right back, raising an arm and pointing towards the tree where he had been standing.

He looked down at his right hand and the knife. Yet, he did not put away the blade and continued to hold it. Looking back up at her he said, "Never you mind. Do I know you? You new?"

Again the girl did not answer. Rather, she looked up at the sky and its bright moon and seemed to exhale a long sigh.

"Are you going to answer me or not?" he asked.

"Don't think so," she said after a beat.

"Alright then," he continued. "I'm here to meet a kid. Oskar Eriksson. You know him?"

"No," she answered, at last answering at least one question.

"Does he come out here at night? Oh, of course you wouldn't know. Look, I'm here to see him. Got a message for him."

"Oskar?"

"Yes, Oskar. If you meet him, you tell him I was here for him."

"And who are you?"

"Jonny. That's all you need to know."

"Jonny."

"He'll know me."

"He'll know you," she repeated.

Frustrated with her he growled, "You know how to talk, right? Or are you stupid?"

She was quiet for a moment and then moved. Rising up she took a step forward and dropped straight down from the top of the playset, landing before him with barely a thud.

"Am I stupid?" she inquired, leaning towards him ever so slightly. Her face was not far from his but the darkness made the distance hard to tell.

She was nearly his height. Large eyes looked at him hard from under dark hair that clung to her head and tickled the top of her shoulders. She was thin, very thin, yet bore an odd intensity.

"I did," he replied hoping she'd step back.

"You're going to call me stupid?" Her voice had a rising defiance to it. He adjusted his grip on the knife he still held at his side, although he had no intention of using it. "Go ahead," she continued, "Go ahead. Call me stupid. Pig." Her eyes seemed to be darkening, if that were possible, almost as if they were two holes sinking back into her head.

The use of 'Pig' did it. She had heard him at the tree. She was a sneak, listening in on him. But the 'Pig', it riled him, especially in the way she had said it. Her determined voice, which seemed wrong for her. 'Pig' she had called him. "You Are Stupid," he said slowly, rounding his lips with each syllable and intentionally overemphasizing the sounds. The anger in his voice sounded good to him. Knife in his hand, he gripped it harder; it felt good.

A long slow breath escaped her mouth, steady and low as it resonated off her lips. She approached yet closer until he could get a taste of that breath. It wasn't good, he decided, not the breath a young girl should have. But by then it was too late.

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