hold on

Rain splashes over the muddy park, like someone dumping dirty bathwater over the entire city. I see a lone figure sitting on a park bench, watching the carousel spin. He sits slumped, begrudgingly holding himself upright, an overwhelmingly melancholy figure. A little unbelieving, I make my way over to him, and tap him on the shoulder.
“Holden?” Slowly standing, he turns to look at me. I don’t say a word, just hug him with all the reassurance I can muster.

View this story's 2 comments.