A Miracle

I wrote this in a psychiatric hospital

She wandered through the empty playground, not knowing what she was looking for. It was like dull gnawing at the back of her head. Sand whisked through the merry go round, tinkling silently amidst the rusty creaking of the wheel. Leaves crinkled, and spun in a whirlwind on the empty asphalt. Sheila had played on the same grounds years ago, back when it was full of life and joy. She wasn’t used to seeing it so empty and dead. It was as if the playground had a spirit, and it had been sucked out long ago.
Sheila stepped into the sandbox, sending up small puffs of sand into the stale air. She stepped over scattered pieces of trash and fallen rocking horses towards the pair of swings on the other side. She sat on the only one that wasn’t broken. It rocked slowly back and forth, creaking loudly. Sheila hummed to herself, recalling the melody that defined her childhood. The soft somber notes that rocked her to sleep, comforted her in her pain, and eased her in her troubles played now, like a dusty music box. They flowed from her mouth and drifted on the breeze. Hollow pipes and rusty tubes echoed her pensiveness and rang in the uneasy silence. Sheila’s song ended, and the grounds were silent again.
Suddenly, wind whistled through her hair and into the sandbox. A torrent of air flew beneath the sand and lifted it up in bunches. Sheila tensed, and stared in awe at the marvel taking place in front of her. A bulge of sand stood four feet high, loose grains of sand cascading down, falling only to be picked up again by the pulsating waves of sand. The wind stopped but the mysterious structure stood tall. Sheila’s melody emanated from the equipment in low, hollow notes, causing the pile to stir. Sand fell in clumps, creating the shape of a woman with hands on her bulging belly. Notes reverberated in the outdated and hazardous metal, creating a soundtrack to the play being echoed by the sand.
The woman, young, beautiful, and familiar, walked in place while her belly kept growing. The bulge fell in a bunch and added itself to the sand, still stirring on the ground. A stroller rose from the ground, connecting itself to the woman’s outstretched hands. Sand rose and fell, pulsating in rhythm with the lullaby. It flowed towards the woman in smooth waves and away in a gentle crest. Sheila watched the new mother carrying the baby, feeding the baby, and walking alongside it. The baby grew until it became a toddler and then a child. But suddenly the music stopped. The pulsating sand fell in clumps and the figure fell apart slowly.
The mother, formed of sand, rose from the ground. The pipes started humming, low and deep. The sound grew in intensity and strength until it became deafening. Sheila covered her ears, but kept her eyes on the woman. The torrent of sound cascaded through her hands, mimicking the sound of a truck’s horn. Wind whistled in a high pitch, creating a devastating final note that caused the figure to explode into single grains that slowly floated back to the ground. Another figure rose from the sand and Sheila realized what she was seeing.
A little girl stood in the sandbox, hands bunched to her eyes wearing the same dress Sheila wore all those years ago on the worst day of her life: the day her mother died. Tears started flowing from her eyes. The rusty equipment started playing again. A woman, with child, rose from the ground. They were looking at each other, smiling. Even though the eyes were formed by particles of sand, rust, and pieces of trash, Sheila could see a glimmer in the little girl’s eyes.
The sand started pulsating again as the mother and daughter walked, hand in hand. The girl ran in front of her mother as a kite’s string formed itself into her hands while the mother watched with joy and pride in her eyes. Sheila watched scenes of memories she would have had if her mother never died. Tears fell more freely than ever, but she was smiling. She raised her hands to her mouth, never taking her eyes from the miracle. Years passed in seconds, and culminated in a scene worthy of a portrait.
The girl, fully grown now, stood beside her mother in a gown and graduation cap. The girl’s smile was vibrant, but didn’t compare to the mother’s whose age, grace, and wisdom added to her beauty. The sand collapsed, but immediately rose again to make the shape of an old woman walking alongside a little boy.
Sheila couldn’t help but sob at the sight of her dead mother playing with her grandson. Her head fell in her lap, and she released thirty years of pent up emotions into the dead grass. When she raised her head, the woman was standing alone in the sand. Even at 59 years, her mother was radiant, and Sheila wished she had lived all those long years. Standing from the swings, Sheila walked towards the figure. When it didn’t fall, she wrapped her arms around her mother. The melody stopped and cold silence took over again. Sand fell in clumps, pouring through her arms and fingers. When Sheila opened her eyes and stepped away, the sand was level again. Sheila looked around and found no evidence of what had just happened. She smiled to herself and walked away from the sandbox. The same rusty equipment had a soothing sound now. Sand whisked through the merry go round, creating a gentle melody amidst the soft creaking of the wheel. Wind whipped silently through the grounds, caressing Sheila’s shoulder as she walked through the old, empty playground.

Reviews

[Norman T]

You have created an splendidly emotive story here, that initially appeared to be the start of a horror story, but then emerged as a gentle journey of memories, tinged with the anxieties of retrospective "could I have done more".
There was depth in this piece that probably triggers similar feelings in the reader.
Most enjoyable.

Norman

[rach]

I love how descriptive this is, the idea that "the playground had a spirit, and it had been sucked out long ago" is beautiful, and captures so well the feeling of going back to places you frequented as a child, I love the snaps of a future that could have been, just all of it.
It was a pleasure to read.