Middle Park Playground
I recall having a recurring dream about being a superhero when I was a child. I could fly but never rose above three feet from the ground. I could see far ahead of me, about ten feet. And I was a badass when it came to fighting monsters. The monsters were assuredly monsters, and I was a katana-wielding badass.
Today I believe my dreams were who I wished I could have been. A fighter of justice. A hero with less than average superpowers who sets bullies straight. I am confident that behind the grueling faces of the monsters were those of my middle school bullies. Every day these supervillains would torture my friends and me. They were cruel and made every school day a place of torment.
As an adult, I am not a katana-wielding badass, I cannot fly, and I don’t have the power of extraordinary sight. But being a police officer helps me fight for justice, set bullies straight, and surpass the monsters’ hold on me in my youth.
I’ll never forget the most recent call to action. The dispatcher announced that there was a disturbance at the local community playground. Take caution; the suspect may have a weapon. I flicked the patrol car lights, set the siren, and sped to the Middle Park playground.
It was a particular night. The two street lights were out, and there weren’t stars to help the half-moon light the play yard. I left the patrol car lights on, checked for my gun, and grabbed the flashlight.
A rustling sound broke through the deafening silence of the midnight hour.
“Police, show yourself!” No answer came to my demand. Again, “Police, you must show yourself!” The rustling stopped. Through the silence, I could hear a low gurgling growl. The sound seemed to surround me.
I shone the flashlight on the sled, the swings, and the monkey bars; I felt a breath on the back of my neck. I turned and was face to face with three monsters of my childhood dreams. I stepped back and drew my gun, “On the ground, drop to your knees.” They stepped closer to me. Their breath smelled like a farm of rotting corpses outside Knoxville, Tennessee. I gagged back my vomit, “On the ground.”
They stepped in closer. I shot each of the monsters once while I stepped back away from them. They didn’t flinch — another shot to each of them, nothing. I called dispatch for backup while I ran to my patrol car.
I turned to them. My gun felt different in my hands. I looked down to find that I was carrying a beautiful katana. The blade was so sharp its edge glistened in the moonlight; I could see them wandering toward me in the darkness, and I leaped into the air and flew toward them. With exceptional precision, with one swish of the Masamune, all three heads rolled from their bodies, and the gruesome bodies thudded to the ground.
“Officer Alina!” I turned to look at my backup coming toward me, but I could not see them in the distance.
“Here,” I looked at my feet. There weren’t any bodies. No blood. No monsters. “over here.”
I placed my gun back into its holster. No katana. Only my issued gun.
The backup team approached me. “What’s happening?” I answered with great confusion, “I don’t know.” Weakly looking up, “I don’t know.”
When I woke up, I sighed, “A dream. It was only a dream.”
I picked up the morning newspaper. Stunned by the headline, I collapsed on the couch, ‘Three beheaded bodies found at Middle Park Playground. Tim Tylor was the first body, the middle school bully squad leader, and an escaped felon. The second was Dave Anderson, a minion of Tim’s during high school while they robbed, raped, and killed a young woman. The third is Mike Browne, a weak follower of Tim and Dave, a wannabe, a victim of being with the wrong people at the wrong time. The article read that it was an unexplained murder. A mystery to the detectives and community, but not to me. Not for someone who exists between dream and reality.
THE END
Proofread by Maryann Linquist
