Summers day

On a warm summers day, at the end of June, a woman stepped onto the green grass of the park near her home. In her right hand, she held the miniature version of it, namely her three-year-old daughter's hand. The daughter was wearing a pink-with-white dress. The little girl was making soft sounds of laughter and delight everytime a pigeon came near and she tried to run after it. In the mother's left hand, she held a basket. A basket full of delicious food and drinks. The woman held up the basket, seemingly trying to estimate how much it weighted and sighed deeply. Looking at her face showed every random stranger that she was tired. Very tired.

For no particular reason she stopped walking after they had arrived in the middle of the field. She put down the basket, released her daughter from her grip and kicked off her sandals. They flew with amazing grace through the air and landed only a couple of feet away from a huge tree, that provided the sun-overflown public with a little bit of shadow and coolness.

The little girl had taken the unsuspected opportunity of freedom to escape her mother's authority and she had ran off to the nearest fountain. She was staring in amazement at the peculiar statue of a man and a woman hugging each other very tightly, spewing water from their mouths and hands. Sometimes the water also came from the floor and the first time when that happened the little girl had ran away in time to avoid wetting her lovely dress. She laughed a high, short laugh of happyness and clapped her small hands. And so she started to game of the fountain.

The mother called for the child, which didn't show to have heard her, she was too entertained by the water. The mother called again, this time luring her with promises of a sweet, delicious red apple and a slice of pineapple. At the sound of pineapple, the girl turned around with big eyes of excitement and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her to her mother. The mother held out her arms and the girl ran straight into them.

The little daughter told her mother proudly how she had tricked the water into believe it could touch her, but it never could, she was too clever! But mother wasn't really listening, she was staring at one of the little benches near the fountain, padding her little girl's head once, while her face turned sickly pale.



A short story with all of Dutch writer Zwagerman rules: a part of a life, unknown in who's perspective it's written, the reader can add all sorts of information into the story, abrupt ending, etc.