Author: Kayla Jendly
[Contente Warning: Murder]
This place used to be filled with children’s laughter. If it was sunny, it did not matter. There always were children playing. Chasing one another. Fighting one another. Showing their parents how great they were at being tightrope walkers. They would find the most beautiful rocks that a mom could wish for as a gift. With rain, the children would play with water and soak themselves, jumping in puddles, a smile on their face. And they would smile even more when their mom, desperate from the laundry to come, would scream their name. With the wind, the children would be in the middle of a tempest on a boat, fighting the elements to find the beautiful treasure of friendship. With snow, the children would do epic snowball fights. Friendships would die. Alliances would be created. Betrayal would be committed. With the sun, there would be even more children here, playing, screaming, chasing dragons, saving princesses, catching robbers. Children playing with their imagination.
But today the play area isn’t filled with children’s laughter anymore. The swing is touched only by the wind, not by dirty little hands. The slide is waiting to be used but no one wants to go on it. The people here today are too old for that. And they are not in the mood anyway. Even if you don’t hear the children’s presence; there are sounds. You hear the birds singing. Well, not as loud as usual. As though even the birds knew that should not happen. That’s the problem. It should not happen, but it has happened. The wind plays with the leaf of autumn with no joy, trying not to make too much noise. As if silence was required. As if silence was the only response to what happened. Leaving the leaves, the wind hurts the yellow tape. They are visible, even through the fallen leaves. The yellow of this tape is aggressive as if it was trying to represent what happened. The tape is a warning. Come closer if you dare. But you won’t leave this place with the same light in you. You will lose something. Come closer if you dare. But at your own risks.
The inspector must come closer. New town. Same yellow tape. New colleagues. Same darkness of humankind. Temperature is colder by the way. Preserves the bodies better. Not the dignity. Preserves the tracks better. Not the pain. New State. Same people looking for the morbid. Close just enough but not too much. Close just enough for the heartbeat to raise. But not too much to have nightmares. Close just enough to take a picture. But not too much to think about your own child waiting for you at the kindergarten.
The inspector must come closer. New town. Same yellow tape. New colleagues. Before being able to come closer he has to prove his identity. He shows his police card. He is closer. He walks under the yellow tape. The wind plays with them loudly now, as if it screams a warning to the inspector. Do not come closer. The birds, feeling the death, come closer. They want to see. Maybe the humans will forget a piece and the birds will feast. Without the yellow tape and the men in white it could almost be a normal play area. Except for one thing. The body. The little body. The tiny little body. How could it seem so small? It had all its life ahead. But now, it’s just a tiny little piece of meat. The inspector knows he has to find the killer. Otherwise, it will happen again: New town. Same yellow tape. New colleagues. Same darkness of humankind. He does not think his wedding will survive another town. And what about his little blond angel? Who would she choose? Her loving Mom? Her tortured Dad? The inspector comes even closer. The blond hair making a crown to the little body. As a princess sleeping, waiting for her prince to kiss her, but only Death is allowed to kiss her now. The blue coat which was supposed to protect the little angel from the rain did not protect her from death. The blue coat does not hide the blood stains.
The inspector is too hot. It is not his first crime scene with that kind of horror. But this time it is different. A pain in his stomach grows bigger. He really needs to calm down. Maybe that “zen” shit his wife is always talking about could help. He must go see the body with his own eyes. To feel the scene. Be where the killer was. He just stands there, waiting for the men in white to finish their job. So he can come closer. Always closer. Be the closest.
The sign. He can come closer. Always closer to the truth. With each step, the pain in the stomach grows bigger. How can he stop this feeling? Even with the yellow tape, he can feel the crowd of people. Now the journalists should be here. They’re a problem too. So many things to think about, to do before he can go home to his wife and little blond angel.Now he is close enough. Now he sees what is wrong. Now he sees what the problem is. Now he knows, he knows this little blond angel. Maybe the question: who would she choose doesn’t matter anymore.