Kuunari

This is part of a series of short stories inspired by songs called Audiographs. 

Grace Cathedral Park

The wind whipped through the broken down, old merry-go-round, picking up some discarded newspapers, leaves, napkins and a paper plate with dark stains from some fried food.  The late afternoon sun made a half-hearted attempt to peak out from behind the clouds before finally giving up.  In the distance, a lonesome dog bark split the quiet of this late Autumn day.   Some of the old stands were still boarded up, others had been pried open by treasure seekers a long time before the father and daughter had shown up.

He had hoped to show the girl a piece of his childhood, but instead was worried he had started his daughter down the path of delinquency.  He had been surprised when she had sounded out the words “Warning: No Trespassing” and had innocently asked him what it meant.  He had to start paying attention better in those parent teacher conferences, her reading was much better than he had thought it was.  But with his ex-wife living across the state, he didn’t make it to many of those anymore.

The little girl, Grace, bent down to grab something that had caught her eye.  A postcard, with a long fold across it, of an old European Cathedral, standing high above the rest of the Innenstadt.  She turned it over in her hands, studying it, as she imagined a forensic scientist might study a clue.  The back was empty, whomever the owner had been having lost it before having the chance to send it.

She held it up for her dad to see, waited for the wave, before letting it fall from her hand, her interest now a the remains of an old wooden roller coaster that towered over the rest of the park.  The wind buffeted the card, and it took a minute before it landed on the ground in it’s final resting place.