At day you can’t see them, because they are nowhere to be found. But when the light is out, they head to the empty playground. For while you are surrounded by walls, in your bed dreaming. This is the place where their childish hearts are pretending to be beating.
The seeker is covering their eyes while counting loudly to ten. Here they get the chance to play their favorite games once again. Fighting carelessly over plastic toys and digging in the damp sand. It looks like a lively place to be, instead of yet another wasteland.
They are hiding in the trees, giggling. Who can climb all the way to the top? Tiny hands are holding on to each other, spinning around until they almost throw up. Going down the rusty red slide: some are going fast, others nice and slow. And if they hear you coming, they’ll be gone like the first flake of snow.
Far away, you might hear a familiar sound of squeaking swings. Laughter is echoing through the night, carried into the town by bird wings. They are trying to evade being captured, while running in a green ocean of clover. But the sun is lurking in the dawn; soon their fun and games will be over.
I had such a weird dream a couple of nights ago, and it gave me inspiration to write this. And don't ask why I dream about dead children, because I don't even know why myself.