The Swing - Knightly News

Addison Daggett

The wooden swing hangs from a branch and 6-year-old you can tell at a glance that it’s old. You walk towards the swing, then hop on. The swing itself isn’t high quality whatsoever, but you don’t mind. Plus, the part of the forest where the swing is gives way to show the swing overlooking a small cliff face with waves crashing below. The swing is hanging from the tree closest to the cliff, and from where you got on you can see the waves crashing below.

You start to swing and giggle as the wind races around you. It’s cloudy, but you don’t care. You swing your legs in the familiar pattern, laughing in joy each time you go higher. You push your legs out as you fall back in the swing to go even higher, before tucking them in and continuing to swing. The wind whips around you as you swing higher and higher each time. Your breath catches as you look in front of you, at the waves crashing below. You go even higher, somehow, and your breath catches again as you realize you had gotten to the point where you sat horizontal on the swing when you reached the height of your current swing. This is the most fun you’ve ever had in your life, and you laugh as you point your feet to the sky. Your mom never let you go this high before.

You go higher, but now you’re almost completely upside down at the height of your swings. You feel a pit in your stomach as you try to slow down. You want your mom. You don’t want to play anymore. But you can’t stop. The wind becomes faster and you get higher and higher. You panic, but it’s a swing. What’s the worst that could happen? As you reach the height of your next swing, your stomach drops. You’re completely upside down now. The swing loses its momentum for a moment, but before gravity takes you away, you and the swing go over the branch. Leaves and sticks hit your face as you swing forward rapidly, but now you’re confused and scared. Why? Because you can’t stop.

The swing’s speed picks up and blood falls from several cuts on your cheek. You go over the branch again, your white knuckle grip on the swing loosening for a millisecond as your panic-filled eyes look desperately out towards the waves. Without warning, you fell out of the swing. You fly far past the dangling swing, far past the broken branches, then far past the edge. The swing dangles from the tree while you plummet to the rocks and waves below.