A Children’s Story from Christchurch.

One sweet Spring morning, the sun woke us up with the promise of adventure.

We filled our bellies with toast and jam, turning our noses up at slices of apple; prefering to feed them to the dog, who ate them greedily.

We fought our way out of our pyjamas, the ruthless adversaries of every morning, and dressed for the new day.

We hunted our shoes; they would always split up when they knew we were coming for them. It could take us a good long while to capture and reunite them. But we do; because Mother says it is too far to walk in gumboots, and no, she won’t carry us.

We walked to the park, excited about what we would do there. First, the swings! We thought. Then, the birds! We agreed. Last, the slide! We could not wait. We had been so good and walked so far and had hardly rowed at all!

But then!

‘Where is the playground?’, asked Theo.

‘WHERE MAE-MAES SLIDE?’, cried Mabel.

‘Fuck’, whispered Mother.

‘They are fixing the playground!’, She told us.

‘Aren’t we lucky!’, She reasoned.

‘Bloody wobbles!’, She concluded.

And we agreed.

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3 thoughts on “A Children’s Story from Christchurch.

    • Tell it to the Man, baby.

      Restoration Priorities: Hey, what’s that over there? Shall we pull it down? Hmm…? Yeah? You reckon? Well, we’re not doing anything else right now. Okay, go on. APPROVED FOR DEMOLITION.

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