Time At The Park
Time-At-The-Park


They have no idea who they are, their reason for being here, or simply how they got here. They can’t recall any details about this person, not even the clothes on their back or the colour of their skin, but they hold an unfound confidence that this person is “me”.

Their feet are planted on the hard asphalt of a road, waiting for something to happen, as their eyes make movements to observe the world around them. The world they observe is grey, varied mixes of black & white painting a modern suburbia. A light rain creating puddles on the asphalt, looking into the puddles, hoping to find themselves in the reflections shows nothing, as if they were never there to begin with.

They find themselves walking, for no particular reason, though the activity is not foreign to them. Walking along the road they come to realise they don’t feel the rain, in fact, they don’t feel anything, like a ghost wandering the realm of the living due to a supposed unfinished business. The sky is empty, grey, the fine details in the crevices of the clouds & gravel at the far ends of the streets are blurred together in a dense transparent fog.

So far on this journey, they haven’t seen a single living being, not an animal, nor human, it’s quiet aside from the rain, the rain has always been calming, comforting. Temperature is benign, practically non-existent, even with the rain & seemingly cold atmosphere of this desolate world, they can’t feel temperature, they can’t feel anything.

A small park looms in the distance, the tantalising idea of doing something other than walking. They say boredom leads to insanity, but they aren’t bored, they aren’t anything, only a part of the world of nothing they’ve grown accustomed to.

They arrive at the park, just as small as when it loomed the distance, wooden chips filling the ground with some monkey bars and a small wooden bench. As small as this place is, it isn’t disappointing.

They climb onto the play structure, finally stretching their upper body along the bars as they methodically swing back to the platform, and to the next bar, repeating the cycle again & again. Even after hours of doing this they don’t feel sore, they don’t feel anything, like stretching a thick clay into shape where it remains until stretched again. That is all there is to do, and that is all this park contains.

But even with this lack of activities, lack of people, lack of colour & lack of feeling in this monochrome landscape, they feel at ease, without an opinion of the world around them, with no care if anyone is worried about them.

It’s still raining, even without clouds in the sky, as they stop and slowly walk over to the wooden bench and close their eyes to sleep. After an unknown amount of time spent in a dream of no recollection, they awake to the drizzle of rain kissing their face, to the monochrome world once again, and for the first time in forever, I feel feeling.

My body aches, making sounds of cracking and popping, fluids releasing between every knuckle and joint in my body as I stretch my limbs awake. The feeling of feelings overwhelming me, I feel everything, I’m so cold, so sore, so wet, so tired & yet so awake.

Something tells me it is time to go home, where “home” is I’m unsure, but probably back the way I came. Saying goodbye to the monochrome park that has given me feeling once again, I begin my final walk.

I feel like I’ve always felt, already forgetting what it’s like to be numb, closing yourself off from the rest of the world, letting nothing and no one in. It’s good to be able to shut yourself off from other people's opinions, but I became so numb I shut myself off too. I felt as if I, along with everyone and everything else simply meant nothing, all cogs in a grandiose machine in an expansive world of nothing.

Maybe that's what this world symbolises, my view of the world, black & white, conformity, akin to Sigmund Freud’s Super-Ego. My self-actualization has driven me to ego, caring about the world, and most importantly, myself once again. I understand now that I enjoyed my time at the park, even if no one was there to enjoy it with me…

rating: +5+x

Time At The Park was written by FerranteFerrante with critique given by AequilibriumAequilibrium, CinnalynCinnalyn, ZENAJZENAJ, and 1000dumplings1000dumplings. The images used inside the article are in order: bar park for street workout or calisthenics from Getty Images & edited by FerranteFerrante. The ambiance used is Rain No Thunder by Rain on Tin Roof




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