“The Park”
Jane slipped into her Sunday summer dress, just as she had every Sunday morning for decades. She was meeting her three best friends at the park, where they would spend six hours playing bridge and soaking up the sun.
It was more than a ritual — it was their religion. For forty-two years they had gathered here. Once there had been six of them, but time had taken its toll.
Susan used to say: “No matter how much you expect it, plan for it, no matter how much you know it’s coming — death always hits like a freight train.” She had been right. Carrol fought cancer for two months before finally passing, and when she did, it felt like losing a limb.
Now only four remained — Jane, Connie, Wilmer, and Francis. They knew each meeting could be the last, which only made the park feel more precious. To them, the park was life itself: fresh air, sun, and renewal.
On this day, they had a special treat — children. Their laughter and energy filled the air, making the women feel young again. Their aches faded, replaced with vitality. For a while, fear of age and death seemed far away.
But then it happened. Wilmer clutched her chest and fell back against the bench, her glasses skittering across the ground. The ambulance arrived quickly, but it was too late.
From that day forward, the pattern grew clear. One by one, the women passed — each time on a day when the children had played nearby, their joy somehow too close, too consuming.
Now Jane sat alone at eighty-two, her friends all gone at the age of eighty-three. The park felt emptier today, the children absent, and grief pressed on her like never before.
As she sat in thought, a man approached. He looked about her age, and he asked if he might sit. Jane nodded.
“I used to come here every day,” he said softly. “But when I realized the children were taking the old… I had to stop.”
Jane stared, stunned by the absurdity. But then her memories returned, lining up like dominoes — each death had come on a day when the children played close, when they made the women feel so alive.
She turned to speak, but the man was no longer breathing. She shook him in vain. The ambulance and police came quickly, as always.
When the questions were finished, Jane glanced up the hillside. The children were there now — not laughing, not running — just watching. Staring down silently at the man on the gurney.