FEATHERS
The sharp, piercing metallic sound cut through the humid night and entered my room like needles. The sweat-drenched bedsheet had stuck to my body, becoming a second body over my own, and between the two bodies flowed blond, sunburnt dreams as the sound stubbornly poured into my ears and yanked me out of myself. I walked up to the window from time to time and pushed the curtain aside to take a look; the sound repeated, interspersed with brief intervals, and came from the direction of the playground.
It could be heard for so many nights, starting at late hours and not stopping until sunrise. It was clear that somebody was using the rusty swing, but who? Why would anyone need to? All my efforts to spot the person were in vain. That section of the playground was not well-lit, nothin
