text: Once I came upon a girl swinging in the park near my house. The late summer trees surrounded the playground like a cradle of leaves and the moon was half full. She wasn’t swinging very hard. She just swayed a bit to and fro over the ground, her feet tapping the wooden plank underneath that had been put there to obstruct the mud. Tap, tap, her feet went as she swung back and forth. She was smiling, her head slightly lowered, her eyes gazing at something on the ground. I climbed onto the swing next to her and said, “Hello.” “Hi,” she said, not looking at me. “Why are you smiling?” I asked her. “I don’t know.” “It’s kind of creepy,” I said. She shrugged. “I like being creepy.” “Why?” “It’s happy, but not proper happy,” she said. “Oh,” I said, confused. I turned my attention to the swing and concentrated on moving back and forth, my legs going up, and down, until my mind was empty and content. Then when I was done, I scraped my shoes against the ground until I was still. I got up. “Goodbye,” I said. “Bye,” she said. Days went by, and the leaves fell until the ground was a brilliant orange, and the branches were bare against the lamplit sky. Sometimes I’d pass and she wouldn’t be there. But sometimes, she’d be there, still smiling, a soft smile. I’d get on the swing next to her and we’d swing, not talking, just silently moving back and forth. Sometimes when I got into the feeling of it it would feel like time had stopped, or never existed, and I didn’t exist either. I was just a pendulum hanging from the metal rod above, separate from reality. One day I felt particularly bad but I still said “hello” to her as usual, and got onto my swing. I felt grumpy, and lonely. Why did she never talk? Why didn’t she ask me about my day? I was always here for her, wasn’t I? I suddenly felt frustrated by her quietness and her empty smile. “Stop smiling,” I said. “Why?” she said. “Stop it,” I said louder. “Why,” she said. “STOP SMILING,” I shouted, and like a crack on a cup of porcelain, her smile shivered and broke, and the tap, tapping of her feet on the wooden plank stopped. She stood up from the swing, her mouth opened ajar, her eyes unblinking, and the wooden plank under her feet creaked open like a door into the ground. A moaning began in her throat, low and unearthly, until it bellowed in my ears like the moaning of the wind. I didn’t like the sound. “Stop it,” I said. “Stop that at once.” “Daddy,” she said, “I’m sorry I broke it I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-” “Be quiet,” I said. “--sorry sorry sorry sorry” “Close your mouth,” I said, and wrapped my hands around her face, and tightened them to muffle the sound. When I opened my hands, I saw nothing but scraps of a cafeteria lunch fall onto the floor, and walls wherever I looked.