Construction Site Playground

‘Run Gill’ Linda and Delamie shouted in harmony.
I bent to tie my shoe lace and then dawdling, stood again, turned in the direction that all the noise was coming from, hand to my brow to shade the early evening sun from my vision. Then a stillness settled and that strange crescendo rose from the silence, just like it does before a storm is brewing. I watched as if outside myself. The biggest boy picked up a stone, weighed it in his hand.
‘BLACKIEEE’, he shouted. There was just him and me, at least that’s how it felt. That’s how it felt, him, me and the missile, cruising, impossibly slowly towards my third eye.
‘Come on, it’s going to hit you’ Linda Wright’s voice pierced my stasis, and in a split second the target became my brow bone instead of my eye. But it couldn’t have hit me, he was too far away. The red rain told a different story as it rippled through my lashes. In disbelief I placed my index finger to my head, saw the trickle of blood, and finally started running blindly, away from the building site, where we shouldn’t have been.
So very close to blinded.
A pale blue and cream police panda car took me to hospital, to three stitches and a scar I still bear. I don’t suppose the racist bully remembers. No-one punished him, a little nigger girl didn’t matter much in 1967.

Written in response to Bastet’s prompt,
”One of my favorite lines written by Maya Angelou is this:

If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.

I’ve said that she’s best known for her autobiographies, so what I’d like you all to do is write a small autobiographical piece.”

http://wedrinkbecausewerepoets.com/2014/06/05/short-story-prompt-june-6-2014/

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14 thoughts on “Construction Site Playground”

  1. Captivating, Gilly. And so true of life. Man’s inhumanity to man has plagued us in every decade and every nation, taking different forms, but always hurting and destroying. Your story points out one of the most horrible consequences of it: the children pick up the inhumanity from their parents, and it gets handed down from generation to generation to generation.

  2. Thanks you for this contribution. Others here have made very valid comments on the lesson to be learnt in this story. Wish I could say, that now days things like this don’t happen, unfortunately, that isn’t possible. The cruelty of children especially when rooted in family backgroud it terrible.

  3. so moving to remember the fears, cruelties, scars of childhood, a traumatic moment so beautifully shared, the disbelief comes through strongly … how could it happen? but it did …

  4. I can Ssooo identify with this story, Gilly. I had many experiences – not with a stone – like yours. The stones can be words too.
    A very well written story that I wish had never happened to you. You are a greater person for having survived such meanness.
    Blessings to you
    Issy <3
    P.S. I'm pleased I found this one I almost issued.

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