Secrets

The grown-ups won’t talk about what happened that day.

And now, the school’s overgrown.

“Come on!” Devon urged us forwards.

“Don’t like this, Dev.”

“Wassup? Scared?”

“No…”

We pushed through the treeline, and found it. A rusted roundabout. A climbing frame, blackened and half-collapsed. Rotten swings on old rope.

Even Devon stopped.

We’d speculated. An accident in the Science labs. One of the teachers murdering her class. Maybe she still lived in the building, mad and gibbering.

What we saw: a pristine building, surrounded by the burnt shadows of those who ran.

And…

No. It’s not “won’t talk”. It’s “can’t”.