Creative Writing: The Park

They were pushing the cart along the road and made a sharp turn to the left into another plain of lifeless land. The charred trees casted a shadow over the land, turning the grey anaemic road to a black ashen eye sore. The cart seemed heavier than ever, but only a few new items had made their way in. The clouds were hidden in the dense grey sky, rumbling, threatening the man and the boy with rain.

They hid the cart under a tree while they found shelter for the night within the ashen trees. The man knew the day was nearly over when he could hardly stand. They took a tarp, matches and a can of food and went into the woods. The man was thinking about the boy. He was running the thought through his mind. He knew what he must do. But not now. He started to think about her. His final moment with her. They were sitting in another abandoned apartment, facing each other. Her eyes were always hard to see as they were always squinting, hiding the grey watery eyes, but he could always see the pain inside her, bloodshot from the ash that surrounded them. He was always on the edge of his seat, never relaxed, always ready and prepared. He wasn’t looking healthy.

I’m not gonna sit here and do nothing. We have to do something. For our son.

No. Stop.

I'm not going to carry the responsibility for my child's death. You know you’ll have to do it one day.

I know. But not yet. Its too early. There’s still hope for him.

The apartment was extremely cold, so cold that frost had started to form around the edges, painting itself on the doors and windows. The walls were crying with grey, ashen tears and the house was smoking with the smell of a fading fire. He was coughing quietly, as it was only a tickle at this point, unaware of its true threat. The boy was across the room, staring into the distance through the milky windows. The boy turned his head around and gazed at his parents, giving a faint smile, as if he had no energy left to do anything