The Playground
On a bench, she glances up from her phone to check her son hasn’t been kidnapped. Burying a G.I. Joe in the sand, he waves. Thirty minutes slip by. She looks at the moon and calls him. Nothing. Heads shake, as she paces, asking, '“Have you seen my son?” Giggling, he pokes her, shouting, “I’m right here!” She freezes. But when she turns around and utters his name, everything gets darker. Wobbles. Spins.