I was at the kiddies’ playground this morning. I take my granddaughter Precious most days while Sharon – that’s my daughter – is at work. It’s a big commitment but I don’t mind it. But it is exhausting, you can’t let a toddler out of your sight.
The playground wasn’t busy and I sat on the bench and let Precious off the leash. That’s when I noticed the empty buggy. I didn’t think about it at first. It looked ordinary enough; there wasn’t a bomb or anything in it. I did look around to see who it might belong to and that’s when I saw her.
She was a lady about my age, so I assumed she was on baby-minding duty like me. I hadn’t seen her there before; she wore a good coat and her shoes were expensive. It didn’t look like she was from around here.
She was pushing a swing. I must be going daft because it took me a moment before I got there was no child in it. Her face was lived-in and her wispy hair flew in the wind. Her smile looked like she was having a religious experience.
A couple of mothers had noticed her too. They exchanged puzzled looks. One turned to me, her lips curled as if she was saying: we’ve got a right one here.
All three of us watched the lady, she didn’t see us. None of us spoke. Then the lady collected her empty buggy and went on her way.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 