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Jean Kirstein was often praised as having a remarkable talent for thinking things through. However, he couldn’t agree less.
‘ugh…why is it so hot?’
Nats danced around his head like it was some kind of fun game.
'Look at us look at us circling around this pile of human waste.’
He’s pretty sure his ankle is sprained. He tried rolling it to the side only to be rewarded with a sharp shooting pain. On days like this it was said to be ten degrees cooler in the shade. If this was the shade he really didn’t want to know what the hot cement of the playground felt like. Luckily with it being so hot there weren’t any children at this particular playground. He was content to sit inside the make believe tunnel for the rest of the afternoon.
In all honesty this wasn’t one of his better plans. Maybe be he should have at least waited for the sun to go down before making his great escape. Or saved up a little money, bought a ticket out to the ocean. He could have survived there, under the boardwalk, scaring kids and taking their snow cone money. A particularly hot gust of wind bellowed sand into his face as if to punish him for the very thought. He immediately shut his eyes tighter, brushing the remnants of dust and dirt out of his eyelashes.
“I thought long eyelashes were supposed to protect you from this sort of thing.” He spoke out loud, finding comfort in his own voice.
He definitely had sand in his eye and the only source of water was far away from the safety of the plastic tunnel. The blistering sun, a probable sprained ankle, and a whole lot of lack of motivation separated him from potentially going blind. He rolled onto his side, groaning at the hunger in his stomach. Which was roaring back to life, reminding him of his impending doom.
“Excuse me...”
Startled, he jerked at the voice, head swiveling to catch a glimpse of what could possibly be a mirage.
"...are you okay?" A tall dark haired man stood there in business attire, carrying his jacket in one hand. He could see slight damp spots under his armpits. He was holding what was probably a bag from a nearby convenience store.
“Er…yeah I’m fine.”
“Are you hurt?”
"Not at all." That was a lie, he totally was hurt. But even with that being the case, the best this random stranger could do was call an ambulance. That's the last thing Jean needed.
"Sorry for bothering you. I was just wondering why you're lying in the middle of a playground?"
"Well don't worry, I promise I'm not a nefarious character."
"Nefarious?" The man quirked his brow.
"I mean- I'm not up to anything suspicious."
"I know what nefarious means, I'm just wondering why I suddenly feel like I'm in a 1930's crime novel." The man chuckled.
"Ah well. What can I say?" Jean sat up.
"Hm, well judging by your swollen ankle, I'd say 'ouch'." His voice was very calm for someone who suddenly looked very concerned.
The man bent down on one leg, "How old are you?" he asked, peering into the tunnel.
"I-why do you need to know?" Jean hurriedly scooted up and away from this new stranger.
"Just making conversation. May I see it?" This was beyond uncomfortable, but the guy didn't look like the type to mug a homeless youth.
Begrudgingly Jean held out his foot, and the man gave him a little smile in return. Gingerly he took a close look at the ankle, turning it over in his hands.
"Does that hurt?" A twinge of pain ran through the bone, but nothing unbearable.
"Yeah a bit."
The man seemed to be thinking something over, "How did this happen, if you don't mind me asking?"
Jean froze, anxiety penetrated his chest. What if this guy reported him to the police, or worse found out where he lived?
"I really gotta go. So if I could just, have my leg back?" The man looked surprised, "Where are you going?"
"Home." Jean Lied.
"Would you like some help getting there? You need to be careful with that foot."
"No, no I'm really fine. I was just taking a break."
"Oh I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to- you just looked a little lost. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm fine! Thank you for checking." Jean insisted. This guy seemed nice, but he was turning into a real pest.