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It had been 19 months since the apocalypse started, and not one day before nor after has Krow ever imagined himself trudging into this damn park again. Half the case into consideration, Krow didn’t even recognise the park at first. It used to be quite pre— of a bearable place to live , even if he saw it so much as to be sick.
Nice grass, not of the prickly kind, but not of the luxurious kind, either. Something of about thirty or so trees in line of sight from the entrance at which he stands now. (He had counted.) Probably some nice play equipment, but Krow didn’t care for children enough more to find the source of their relentless shrieks.
There was a toilet block, which was convenient, he guesses. Though not that it was always clean. A seating area far off to the side, which commonly held large family barbeques, and a strange modern art installation that only seemed to stare at Krow as an amalgamation of scrap construction metal and a waste of government money. Money that could have at least spared a soup truck here yonder.
Darn memories. He can already feel the echo of not-his-joints staining his lungs, each too-loose granule of a rotunda’s concrete beneath his slim frame, and the dry texture of skin that came lagniappe to washing his hands in the too-much-algaecide fountain. It’s all too different now; vandalised and rotten, with the odd inconspicuous remains of something once living, stains of something forgotten, and rubble from what looks to be a car crash with a concerning scope. The only thing that has remained similar, is that this park still seems to violate about every OSHA protocol in the book, if OSHA gave a care for public spaces.
And, Krow is so engrossed in these darn memories that he seems to forget he’s with someone else, because suddenly there’s a coin pressed into his palm and he finds himself at that same too-much-algaecide fountain. (Funny how all that dumb algaecide cowers under the sheet of algae and whatever else that’s found home to the fountain now.)
“Make a wish or forever hold your peace,” says Martyn, in the same dry, dad-tone he’s seemed to equip more often whilst talking to Krow.
Krow, with not much better to do, had decided to leave Owen asleep in the backseat of his ramshackle 2001 Commodore to go on a walk with his… not his friend. A mangy, wasted, 24 year old blonde man with a headband and stubble, who for some reason has something out for protecting Krow, despite the fact that Krow is indeed a year and a bit into adulthood, to which doesn’t convince the other at all. And neither does the fact that Krow has no driver’s licence or legal identification, no sense of direction, and a half pack of cigarettes in his back pocket. He lights one, and takes a drag, gazing upon this silver coin in the centre of his palm like a betrayed dog receiving a false treat.
“–a lame joke for such an… unwavering jester like you,” comes Krow’s muttered answer, bobbing the cigarette between his teeth. As if he even believed in those… weird, shallow traditions. Stories that the adults told kids because they thought it was more entertaining than the crap they were fed on TV.
A muted plip sounds as Martyn’s coin breaks the algae on the surface of the water, and sinks down. He turns his head to Krow, and with the smallest grin tugging at his mouth, speaks. “In all seriousness, what’s to buy with a few quarters and a dime?”
“A payphone call to hell,” Krow replies, and tosses in his quarter.
It’s a moment after Krow buries his fists into his pockets, staring into the bog of the fountain before Martyn finds a reason to speak again.
“So your wish is significant, then?’
“What?” comes Krow’s reply.
“Your wish. Something good, was it?” comes Martyn’s, bordering a tone to be both bittersweet, and something like teasing. With Krow’s hesitant silence, he huffs a laugh and adds, “ Come on, quit that face. Swear on my life I’m not judging. What’d you wish?”
Krow hates this guy.
“That I never have to step fucking foot into this damn park ever again.”