"Oh Alex, I'd do anything to be young again."
"Brett, you say that every time we come here."
The elderly couple sat side by side on a timeworn bench, their weathered hands resting gently on their laps as they overlooked the playground below. The park was alive with the bright, carefree energy of children—laughter ringing through the air, mingled with the high-pitched squeals of innocent delight. This place had long been their favorite summer haunt—not just for its dappled sunlight and well-kept paths, but for the simple, profound joy of witnessing youth in its most unguarded form.
Toddlers giggled as their parents pushed them on creaky swings, their tiny legs kicking at the air with glee. Nearby, older children scrambled across monkey bars and climbing frames, testing their strength, daring each other, thriving in the rush of movement. The sun hung high above, warm and brilliant, casting golden rays that seemed to bless the scene below with a gentle, approving glow.
At the very heart of the playground stood its crown jewel: an enormous slide that towered over the rest of the equipment like a shining monument to adventure. From its summit, one could see the entire park unfurl in a lush panorama of grass, trees, and life. Today, it drew more attention than usual. A crowd of children had clustered at the top, buzzing with anticipation, all eyes fixed on the figure poised at the edge.
Misa stood at the front of the line, frozen in place. Though next to go, her body trembled, not from the height—but from something deeper. Her fear was not rooted in the slide itself, but in the uncertainty of what might happen when she reached the bottom. She knew her body all too well—knew how her legs, weakened by a progressive muscular condition, could betray her even on the simplest of landings.
"I believe in you, baby! You got this!"
Her mother's voice (Yasmin) rose above the din, warm and encouraging, coming from a cluster of watching adults—an ever-present conclave when children congregated in numbers.
Misa drew in a shaky breath, summoning what courage she could. But before she could release it, a sudden ripple of disruption passed through the group behind her. A boy she didn't recognize elbowed his way forward, pushing past the others with a forcefulness that silenced any objections. His presence was like a rock thrown into calm water, and the crowd's mood shifted.
"What's with the holdup?" he demanded.
"I-I'm just a bit scared, that's all," Misa stammered.
"If you're so scared, then why get on the slide?"
"I wanted to try it first at least. And I'm getting there—I was just readying myself a little."
"Well, you've been readying yourself for the past ten minutes. Go down already."
"I-I will, I just—"
"I said go down!"
"Baby? Is everything okay up there?" Yasmin called, her voice tinged with concern as she stepped closer to the slide. The noise from the playground made it difficult to catch the tense exchange unfolding above.
"Everything's just fine," the boy answered coolly, then without warning, shoved Misa forward.
Her scream tore through the air as she launched down the long, gleaming metal slope. Her ponytail whipped behind her like a banner caught in a storm. She didn't slow—didn't stop. When she reached the end, her momentum flung her from the slide's lip and she crashed onto the earth below with a bone-jarring thud.
Yasmin's heart stopped. She had witnessed it all—the push, the fall, the final impact—and now her daughter's cry of pain cut through her like a blade.
"MISA!!" she screamed, sprinting toward her child.
Blood streaked Misa's knees, crimson against trembling skin. Her legs spasmed slightly, reacting to the trauma, her condition amplifying the damage of what might have been a simple fall for another child. Yasmin dropped to her knees beside her, panic overtaking her voice as she tried to both soothe her daughter and dial for help. The sight of her child—already fragile, already under medical care—so broken, so vulnerable, undid her completely.
And then she saw him.
The boy who had shoved her daughter without a flicker of permission or thought. Whatever bravado he had worn earlier was gone now, replaced with the raw, unmistakable expression of someone who had just realized they had done something terribly wrong. He stood at the top of the slide, frozen. His face, once arrogant, was now pale and stricken.
"Y-you..." Yasmin's voice shook with a fury so fierce she could barely form the words.
"I'm s-sorr—"
"GET OUT! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE NOW! I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU NEAR MY DAUGHTER OR THIS PLAYGROUND EVER AGAIN!!!"
She didn't need to say it twice.
The boy bolted—leaping down from the slide's platform with a clumsy thud and sprinting away as fast as his legs would take him. Yasmin's voice, heavy with rage and pain, echoed behind him, leaving the playground stunned and silent.
Misa stirred, brought back to the present by her mother's cries. Through the tears in her eyes and the throbbing in her legs, she caught sight of the boy retreating—his small figure shrinking into the distance. And though it made no sense, though it defied reason, she was certain...
She saw tears flying from his eyes.
How?
How could he cry?
How could he cry when he was the one who had caused the pain? Was it guilt? Was it the sudden weight of shame pressing down on him like gravity?
Even now—surrounded by a hush of concerned faces, lying bloodied and broken at the foot of the slide—Misa couldn't shake the image of that boy's face. The face of the one who had hurt her.
So sad.
So lost.
So human.