The swing set creaks like bed springs that time we tried to bounce to the ceiling. Its metal legs tremble with every pass.

You say, if we go faster, we can wrap around the frame. A kid did it at school last year.

But at the top of each arc, the chains slacken, my stomach and legs float for half a heartbeat. Then we are tugged down and backward past the rut our shoes created. Hours of effort. Same results.

He was heavier, you say. Let’s jump instead.

On three.

Two.

One.

I lean forward, let go, and fly.


This story was written in response to the Carrot Ranch Literary Community’s weekly 99-word challenge:

July 16, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that expresses the phrase, “scream inside your heart.” Who is involved and why is the scream contained? Go where the prompt leads!