Playground

The Playground

It was a sunny day in spring and the weather was warm but not overly so. It was time to go outside for recess and all of the children were so excited and Harry couldn't really understand why. It felt nice, but he really couldn't really relate to the longing to be out of the classroom as all of his other classmates. He guessed it was just one more thing that set him apart.

He already sat in the back of the classroom, as far away from his classmates as possible, because they were some sort of species completely different from him, or at least, that's how he felt, and he guessed everyone else did too. He listened to the teacher's lesson on clouds with some interest, actually learning quite a bit, unlike his classmates, it seemed. He must have been spaced out, because the next thing he knew everyone was lining up to go outside, and all the little spoiled children were more than happy to leave the classroom.

Harry dreaded it. He had felt the rejection time and time again, but seeing everyone have fun made him feel separate each and every time. Harry made his way to the very end of the line of children and attempted to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible, praying no one said anything to him, because on the rare occasion that they did it wasn't worth listening to. He didn't appreciate the looks and sounds they made towards him, almost always negative, as if he were some sort of lower being.

He clenched his hands and his face didn't change, he never felt the need to express any emotions to anyone, no one cared. As they marched themselves out of the primary school building he looked at the artwork of all the children and appreciated the signs that hung on the walls, as they slowly passed the classrooms of the older children, the fifth graders. They walked past the lockers and down the long hallway to double doors. They were grey-ish blue.

Down the stairs, the children contained their excitement, down the hill to the rusty playground. They were replacing parts of it, at least. It was an odd sight. The odd mixture of far too old equipment and the brand new pieces splattered in. One of the newer parts was Harry's favorite, the little yellow tunnel. It was in the same spot as where the old slide was. The slide used to be his favorite, until they took it away. Harry didn't understand why they did that.

The little yellow tube seemed quite large to his small form, and the three holes on each wall let in the perfect amount of light, in his opinion. The warmth made it nice and cozy, he decided. He crawled in and pushed his legs against himself, curled in his favorite position. He idly wondered if anyone cared if he was there. No one usually did.

A kid would come over from time to time, but usually, they left him alone in the tunnel. He also wondered if any of the teachers cared he was there, or if they just accepted that he was different, even if he couldn't understand why he was. Curled in the little tunnel he looked at the light streaming onto his hands, he wondered if he could do anything with the light.

He switched positions, now on his stomach, staring at the light, and a stick he found that must have been blown into the tunnel. He had accomplished, small, odd feats that no one else seemed to understand so maybe he could try again.

He stared at the little stick, a twig, really, and focused on the warmth of the light shining in from one end of the tunnel and the three holes on his right, and channeling that feeling towards the little stick. He imagined what would happen if there was more heat, and imagined it bursting into flames. As he concentrated he noticed a bit of smoke rising from the twig, and he decided to focus more on making it catch fire.

Sure enough, it burned! But he was so caught off guard that he lost his concentration and the small fire, just a spark, really, went out. A bit of smoke still came from the little twig, and he shoved it in his pocket, determined to try again tomorrow. His stained, dirty jeans, with a few holes. Just like his too-big shirt. Maybe one day, he would be like everyone else. For now, he was happy enough to be different, because the other children just didn't understand.

Harry was alone, and he guessed he could be fine with that, even if he didn't want to always be quiet, and sometimes, only sometimes, he wanted to laugh and play with the other children.