Playground

by Aron Beauregard

Dead inside, dead alive, and dead tired.

Save for the branding of his chest, most of his other scars had been subtle. Similar to Donnie, they seemed to manifest in places that most strangers weren’t privy to.

The father who viewed life as a constant competition had officially lost.

When horror isn’t quite horror anymore, it’s just normal.

“But, I’m—I’m your mother!” she cried. “And I’m a motherfucker,” Rock grumbled.

She now understood that monsters weren’t born, they were created.

“I’m gonna do something I never got to do before.” The tears gushed from Molly’s eyes. She didn’t want to ask him. She didn’t want to hear or see anything else that hurt. Her jaw chattered as she barely got the question out. “What’s that?” Rock looked away from the picturesque area and locked his eyes with Molly’s. “Play.”