I’ve been working on some darker flash fiction. Here’s the first one:
Children are jumping through hula hoops in the field opposite the duck pond. There’s so little green open space here; it’s all endless city streets that smell like the inside of an empty can. That’s why the children like to come here: to feel grass under their feet, to see water and wild birds and boats.
There has been a scare about the algae, though. It may not be safe to stand near the green and white crust that spread over the pond last year, and the park was closed for a few weeks while it was cleared away. That looks like a bit of it growing again, in a corner of the pond. My throat feels tight; I hope I’m standing far enough away.
Perhaps I should phone up and report it, especially as there’s a child on her knees now, hoop abandoned on the ground and her face turning blue. I so much hope I didn’t spoil this area when I planted the algae. It was just an experiment: mixing plants from the secret witch’s herb garden with habitats of the inner city.