The metal briefly catches the sun

its glint reflecting onto her face

forcing her flushed cheeks

to bask in an ethereal glow.

A school playground — 

the one with a zipline.

The air is saturated with screams,

and somehow I can discern

     which are cries of joy

     and which are that of

a mousy girl 

who flings the zipline forward     |------------------------------|     its sleek metal handle 

                                                                                                    gliding effortlessly 

                                                                                                         through the air.

Her prettier friend sits

slender arms on bars

     leaning forward 

     on the other side.

The handle zips unaided toward her,

attracted to her head’s charming upward tilt

beckoning in welcome.

The sound of metal

splitting

bone

creates a particular magic.

The suddenness of the event

     sucks all noise into a void

from which the screaming

returns      all disfigured and foreign.

The girl screams,

blood blooming across her forehead

the brightness of it so startling

I am stunned by the morbid beauty of it

the colour’s sharp metallic scent 

lingering in my mouth.

Like a film reel

the bell rings

beautifully on time

     teachers pushing back against the flood

          rushing the girl to the infirmary

while 

        drops 

     of          blood 

scatter in her wake

and briefly I gaze 

unshielded at the smears of red

glowing under the afternoon sun

before vanishing under a threadbare mop.

I wonder if they cleaned the zipline too

or did the blood rust it clean through.