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Their Throwing Arms

by  Ian Smith 100

Posted: Saturday, October 22, 2005
Word Count: 481
Summary: He ran back to where he’d left the car with some idea of looking at the sea. He was breathing hard.




He leaned on the railings, and looked at the beach. A woman was ranting at a dog on the beach. He could hear her over the waves. She was ranting at everything round her, like there were imaginary people all round her. He wondered how she became that.

Something hit the railing. He turned round. Across the road, he saw a kid’s head come up over a wall. It wasn’t smart. The kid threw another rock. The rock was meant for him. He moved out of the way of the rock. He could tell the kid a thing or two about throwing rocks.

He set off after the kid.

The wall was too high to climb. He ran to a gate, and went into a graveyard. At the top of the graveyard, was the kid. He ran towards the kid, but he saw there were four others. He stopped. He wasn’t going to push it. He shouted at them.

“Thanks very much.”

That made them mad. They came after him. He turned round, and ran. He ran back to where he’d left the car with some idea of looking at the sea. He was breathing hard. He looked up. The kid was crossing the car park. He unlocked the car, and climbed in. He started the engine, and reversed the car. The kid stood behind the car. He had no choice. He wasn’t running the kid down. He braked, and lowered the window.

“What do you want?”

The kid stuck his head in the opening.

“It wasn’t me. I saw who did it, and it wasn’t me.”

“So?”

“So I can take you to him. I know who he is.”

The kid wasn’t scared of anything. The kid looked round the car.

“I can take you. I was once like that, but not any more.”

“Sure, you’re a good kid now.”

“I am. I’ll take you to the beach. I know him. He’s my friend. You tell him.”

The man thought about it. He wasn’t going to let a kid scare him.

He put the window up, and climbed out of the car. He slammed the door, and followed the kid to the edge of the car park. He walked down steps to the beach. He followed the kid across the sand. The kid stopped at the deck chairs. He stopped too, and looked round. There was no one there. No kid. Nothing.

“You said he’d be here.”

But the kid was looking back. The man turned round. The kid was looking back at the car park. The kids from the graveyard formed a circle round the car. They raised their arms.

He was stuck. The sand sucked his feet. It sucked him into the earth. He was going nowhere. He watched the kids. It was their throwing arms, the cultivated arc of their throwing arms, and then what? Then what?