Child's Play

I sneezed the moment I stepped outside, but the warm spring air still felt better than the cold glow waiting for me inside. I was only there for a second, watching children laugh as they played, laughter that used to be mine. It lifted my spirit for a moment before I stepped back inside and returned to my chair.

The sun’s warmth disappeared, replaced by the light of a screen, the kind that hurt my eyes when I stared too long. Outside, happiness seemed to press against the walls, almost breaking through, but it never reached my desk. The house stayed filled with dull clicks from my keyboard as I worked on something that did not seem like it would kill me, only like it would never end.

For a moment, I stopped typing. I stared at the screen and reread every word, forgetting what I was supposed to do next. Instead, I remembered what I had done before, dancing in the grass, watching clouds for hours, and running home only when someone called my name.

I shook off the memory and rubbed my eyes. Outside, a ball rolled across the sidewalk, chased by a little boy with untied shoes and a smile that could not curve any higher. He tripped, fell, and laughed before even standing up. I thought he would check the cut on his knee, but he only jumped back into the game.

I looked back at the screen, feeling as though my heart weighed as much as I did. The blinking cursor waited impatiently. There were assignments to finish, emails to answer, and time that could not be wasted. Good grades. A good job. A good future. I had followed the path so carefully that I had forgotten the destination.

The children shouted again, and this time, it felt like they were calling me. I stood up, my chair rolling into the wall. My hands hovered over the keyboard, as if asking permission to leave. Then I walked to the door and opened it.

Sunlight touched my skin like something nostalgic.

A girl with dirt on her hands and blood on her knees skipped toward me. “Do you want to play?” she asked.

I almost laughed. It felt amusing as an adult.

But then I looked down. My hands were smaller. The girl and I were the same height. The grass looked taller, and the world stretched above me as if I were a child again.

She tossed me the ball before I could say no. I caught it, and suddenly, nothing mattered except running. I ran without checking the time or thinking about what came next. My laughter joined the others. 

Then I heard a voice call my name. The children faded. The grass disappeared, the bright sky darkening into the cold glow of my computer screen.

I opened my eyes. My head rested on my desk. The cursor still blinked in the same unfinished sentence. Outside, the children were still laughing.