This story was first published by me on October 20, 2008, in my Facebook notes. It was written somewhat carelessly, but I feel that it is worth sharing – hope you enjoy it.

It was a beautiful evening in the park that day. This was back when a beautiful evening meant more than fresh air and flowers, when a peaceful getaway was about more than running from noise and pollution. There was a playground in the distance, with two swing sets, a slide and some park benches for parents. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t keeping the three children playing there from enjoying themselves.

Looking up, I could make out the moon faintly outlined against the clear sky. There had been no rain for a few days, but there was no telling when the next deluge might present itself. People were growing confident, too confident. Confident enough to let their children play outside knowing full well what they were risking. With a heavy sigh and a heavier step, I began the long walk toward the playground.

I had taken but a few steps when the alarm rang out. Shrill, high pitched – so loud that the children curled into balls, screaming with their hands over their ears. Somehow ignoring the noise by habit, I broke into a run. One glance at the sky told me what I didn’t want to know – we had less than five minutes. Less than a second later, the sun had been completely blocked out by menacingly dark clouds.

The lights in the park hadn’t been switched on yet, and they probably weren’t going to be. Moving carefully towards the cries of the children, I frantically searched my jacket for the flashlight I knew wasn’t there. I didn’t really know what I would do once I got to them, but I kept moving toward the playground. The only thing I could think of then was the benches – if only somehow we could make it below the benches…

I reached the children with less than two minutes left as per my estimate. I had never been wrong with a prediction before, but I was praying that somehow I had made a mistake this once. Gently but hastily, I ushered the children under the benches and consoled them as best I could. I felt around for the second bench, and found it just in time – I felt the flesh on the back of my hand peel away as I brought it under – it had been exposed.

As the deathly rain fell about me and the alarm faded away, I drifted into sleep. When I look back now, I hate myself for this, and I wonder why my burned hand didn’t keep me awake. I woke up hours later, the rain had long since stopped and the sun was shining brightly. I crawled out from under the bench and immediately thought of the children – were they safe? Unhurt?

They were not under the bench where I left them, so I looked for them in the park. I couldn’t find them, and I was sure I’d left no stone unturned. Maybe they went home, I thought, maybe I was asleep for too long.

But a part of me still says what it did then – maybe they were dead…