Swing of Death

Sometimes fun is scary.......

Swing Of Death

 

      I had never seen 'the swing', just heard about its legendary existence. Stories flowing from, the lips of my two younger, male siblings. Tales of great heights reached, as childish arms almost touched the sky, while gleeful laughter shot from young throats. These little myths angered me, as the green demon of jealousy filled my under nourished bowels. Why had I been excluded? Was it my violent nature? Was it my hyperactivity, which was only under temporary control by the Feingold diet? I will one day hunt down the designer of this nutritional Iron maiden and put them in a figure four-leg lock in the middle of a McDonalds.

      I tried to piece together the location. They both weren't forthcoming but instead kept the destination secret like some ancient tomb. The only way to know was to follow them to the Dredge. I knew it was on the trail we used to walk, with my father on special occasions. It was a long path up on top of the hilly dirt mounds of the Dredge. My father explained that boats digging out the floor or the Delaware River and depositing it on the Jersey side formed those mounds of ground.

       It seemed as if every state was depositing their refuse on our side of the boarder, but this time it created something beautiful. On cloudy days we strolled along the trail staring at those dusty, November skies, when the lazy sun hid behind winter. The three of us walked with quick kid strides attempting to keep up our own Daniel Boone, on occasion peeking over the side. It was as if we were on the top of Everest peering into the steep, cloud filled valley below.

A child's eyes!

        The high point was the whirlpool created by a drainpipe on the Riverside. Through a boys, wind splashed corneas it seemed like the gates to Atlantis and could suck a person to a watery death, never to be seen again, but by whales and whatever monsters of the river rightfully scavenged the bottom.

      I glanced over the side, half intrigued and the other half of men filled with fear and dismay. What if the young explorer falls over the side? What if the whirlpool gets him? Nothing can save him!

         My brethren left the house and I tailed behind them. They didn't take the usual way through the Dredge but a round about way that ran beside Second Street. At the end of Second Street, was a make shirt baseball field, which cut straight into the other half of the Dredge, by Gunthers the haunted house.

     I had never explored the evil, dark dwelling but my brothers and the Shaffer boys had been in and out like wily bats. My devil fearing self would never break the borders of the doorway. I only guessed the interior's decor from the sidelines, fearful to lose my life to some violent ghosts or demonic curse.

          I crept by Günter’s, weaving through the high grass and across a small, barren lot with nothing but beer bottles and trash littering the emptiness. My ears picked up a familiar noise: laughter. I visualized my brothers chuckling, as they swung back and forth like small, drunk monkeys. I followed the sound and came upon a small ragtag group in a clearing. I noticed my brothers and when they recognized me their face dropped like smooth vases from slick, trembling, wet fingers.

           The swing itself consisted of an extra, thick rope, with a large knot at the bottom for footing and attached to the muscular, extended branch of a monster tree. A group of young, quizzical, unfamiliar faces were worshipping the Tree beast by the rope ritual. I watched how the kids got onto the swing; due to the fact it was oddly situated. Part of the swing touched the hill and the other half went off into heights of twenty to thirty feet off the ground. At each time, there was about four to five clutching on the oversized string for life.

            I scaled the side of the hill, beastlike on all fours: the dirt was sandy and soft against my palms. I waited for my turn still study the technique. The object was to jump on the swing, while it was in perpetual motion: there was no stopping. It swung back and forth like a pendulum of a gigantic clock. The kind seen in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons that the bad character always runs into and becomes some sort of clock character hybrid. As it went from air to dirt, passengers jumped on and off in a constant rotation of sugar fuel, childhood madness.

           It was my turn and all eyes were upon me, being the new comer to the scene. I felt comfortable because my brothers were already on the swing. I didn't hesitate and got a running start then grabbed onto the swing. The rope was rough and strong. The bodies of my brothers and some other boys pressed against me in an airborne huddle. The first time the swing went to the high side it seemed a mile off the ground and immediate death for the unlucky one that fell off. I was relieved when we came back.

           I witnessed too much happiness and joy on this ride.  My youngest brother laughed like a madman forgetting about his problems. The hyperactivity posed me, as I found myself trying to cast him off the side. His giggling turned to the gnashing of teeth. His gripped tightened and face froze.

      I started to push and knee him, like an evil pirate boarding the Port side of a ship. It wasn't until a jolt knocked me back into reality, as I almost fell off myself. I regained balance and tossed myself off into the soft, quilt like dirt. I brushed myself off and headed home.

           The swinging life was not for me. I rather liked my feet on the ground, so they could keep the Swing of Death. I would find something else to do. I wasn't the type of pre teen male who lusted for bruises, mud and snakes. I drew cartoons, read National Geographic’s and told jokes into tape recorders. On another occasion, we did return with the Shaffer boys, our neighbor's grandson.

     Allen was the craziest kid I had ever known. He spelled doom and destruction on the Swing of Despair. His coal colored hair blew in the wind, as his jackal like howl filled the atmosphere. He destroyed all who attempted to jump on the swing with him, thrust creating the phrase: Swing of Death.

     We almost all died that day, as our friend the young Charles Mason tried to feed us to the ground bellow. That was enough to make me go cold turkey forever. The whirlpool, Günter’s and Swing of Death made it seem to me that the Dredge ate her young and spit them out into river...

  

Author's Note

opinions please....this is a first draft for the book Backfienfengesict due out in the fall.

Reviews

[Ibreez Shabkhez]

This does miss an article or two here and there, but those things are just creative typing errors. You seem to have a much more exciting picture in your head, be patient and put it on paper as well. You will not lose too much of the thrill if you take your time- sacrifice your fancies a little and you will find solidity.

Being aware of this you some times over explain yourself and ... well... embarrass the reader, for want of a better phrase.

Please do not consider this entirely negetive because it is the fact that you write extremely well that has prompted a more subtle critisism.

[Judas Hammer]

Thank you for the read and the notes. They were helpful...

[LinBin]

you are a born writer; using words like weapons that more often than not meet their mark.....I read stories and poems rather than chapters of books usually......as time is not always in my side.....this story hits the mark in more ways than one....well done

[Judas Hammer]

Thank you very much for the read and the inspirational words. Again thank you very much....

[LinBin]

will always praise work that is due a huge thumbs up.....

[Rene Velez]

been a while Judas, Stories are not my strong suit but I did get a kick out of this one, it's really good, glad I stopped by...

[Judas Hammer]

Thank you. Yes to see you. That means much a New Yorker you guys call it as you see it. Thanks for the read and review...

[Astro]

I truly loved the story, with such a wicked(cool) final line that made everything whole. I found that sometimes especially in the first couple of lines that your use of comma's hampered the flow a bit of the story. That being said, the second half of the first paragraph, is pure money. I love the descriptions. Throughout your story I was overjoyed at the ease I had to connect with that childhood sensibility, the often thought of 'innocence' but truly we boys, were rarely 'innocent'. There were some areas where the grammar or, spelling were off, here are some of those areas:

"make shirt baseball field" "my turn still study the technique." "rotation of sugar fuel, childhood" "hyperactivity posed me," "with the Shaffer boys, our neighbor's grandson." "thrust creating the phrase: Swing of Death."

Here is how I suggest you correct them. "makeshift baseball field" "my turn still study'ing' the technique." "rotation of sugar-fueled childhood" "hyperactivity prodded me" "with the Shaffer boy, our neighbor's grandson/with the Shaffer boys, our neighbor's grandsons." "thus creating the phrase: Swing of Death"

Great story, good luck with your book!!

[Judas Hammer]

Thank you for the editing help, comment and the review. As always it was cool for the detailed review, it always help the piece form into a better story. Thank you for your time.

[Astro]

You're most welcome, keep up the great story writing.

[Baby Ricochet]

Figure four leg lock at a McDonalds. Now that's funny. Good story

[Judas Hammer]

Thank you. Thanks for the visit and the comment

[Dayran]

A touch of innocence, big brother relations and being a member of the gang combine to make this a rite of passage in some way. Viewed this way it seems hardly surprising that the dredge appears as mother. A nice reminiscence.

[Judas Hammer]

Thank you sir. As always thank you for the visit. It ain't real until you get here.

[Leslie Philibert]

Like this a lot, reminds me of Stephen King in its good descriptions, and this uneasy feeling in the background, something will happen feeling..excellent.

[Judas Hammer]

thank you. That is a big compliment. Thank you for the read and review my friend

[Marie]

You must have lead a dangerous life. I'm sure no adults knew you were dong this. It's surprising no one was killed. But sometimes dangers is what fun is all about.

[Judas Hammer]

people were killed. Just not us. Just not then. Thank you for the read and review.