Strawberry Swing

Strawberry Swing
“Do you remember the strawberry swing?”
-Chris Martin

Swing to and fro. Back, stop, pause, down and front again, top, pause, repeat. Gravity has won. No other way to better explain it. You sit at a loss for words, the swing like a pocket watch and the swinger a hypnotist. Ruby red, like a strawberry, ruby red like fresh blood, the swing does what it does best. Back, stop, pause...you stand like a stone, mesmerized by the strawberry swing. A swing among a sky of timbers. Like a lone beacon of enjoyment. You step up on the hill, thinking of a beach, anything but the swing. But it is no good. Back and forth, to and fro, your eyes follow the swing as she swings ever slower.
Her hair flows behind her, red curls awash with sunlight. A smile spreads across her face; a laugh echoes through the ghostly silence of the fields. The strawberry fields. They stretch on forever...strawberry fields forever.
The strawberry that called this ruby land home stares up at you. “Don't come near me, please,” it pleads of you. “I don't want to be here.” Neither do you. How strange. You pick it up, examining the thick red juice flowing from your fingers as you squish the fruit; it screams a scream of pure terror. Like a giant you walk through the fields, recklessly careening into the last vestiges of the fruit.
There she sits in the strawberry swing, waiting for you. Her lips are red as a rose. You can't look away. You admire her from a distance too immeasurable to contemplate, but you know you must get closer. You prepare to climb on the swing with her. She's still so far away. Just a little farther...
Falling, you're falling, caught up in a strawberry dream. Time passes; seconds turn into minutes as you wait. Every moment is so precious to you.
*
“While we drifted we were one
Ceilings lifted walls were gone”
--Andrew VanWyngarden
*
Don't waste any time! Hurry up, the strawberry ferry is departing. Be sure you have your denarii, it's time to cross the river. Grab that oar there, the one with the tattered blade. It doesn't matter who's sitting on the bench, make small talk. There's no one there? Talk to yourself.
It's cold, cold water. You've been left on the shore. There's an older couple up the way, they look like your grandparents. They're laying out, taking in the dismal rays. A young child is laying on the shore as well. Are they the child's grandparents? Why do they look so familiar?
There's something in the water! A shark? No, a hippocamp. It swims near to you, its equine mouth agape as it prods the nearby reeds for sustenance. Reaching in your pocket, you feel a small, hard lump and clench your hand around it. It's a strawberry, full and plush. You hand it to the beast; it takes the fruit and eats it, chewing it slowly with a smile. A smile of pure happiness that spreads from ear to ear.
The hippocamp swims away, its strawberry fin weaving through the waves. It leaps from the watter, turns around, and shouts, “Thank you and bless you, kind soul!”
You look back at the beach—you're quite far from it now—and see the old couple and the young child leaving. The sun looks like a scribble as it reflects off the surface of the waters. The waves have completely stopped now, and you float crestfallen among the seas.
*
I remember when we would walk to Central Park. We couldn't wait until the morning. We'd be there, before anyone else, to catch the first rays of sunshine as they blossomed from between the looming cityscape that lunged right up from the ground. Looking back now I shouldn't have wanted to change a thing. We could have kept on moving, for all time—inside a perfectly straight line. I wish we could've gone away.
But it's such a perfect day.
*
“Thank you,” you tell the cab driver as you step out onto the sidewalk. Skyscrapers line the streets as you look around you. You peer up and see a banner unfurled from one of the rooftops. She gazes down at you from atop the giant poster; her eyes smile out to you as if ghostly leprechauns are dancing in her pupils, like the eyes of God are watching you, picking over every move you make, wishing well. Her smile shows her florescent teeth, illuminating the morning sky with their shine.
*
A parched bit of scorched earth sits beneath your feet. You've traveled far to reach this place, so where is it that you're heading?
“All's leaving for here, there or nowhere please board now!” It's the ferryman. Seems you've missed your last chance to return. What a pity. No telling when the next departure is. Might as well have a seat on that stone over there. Yes, the one with the strawberries on the ground beside it. Go on, have one. No, please, you'll need it. There isn't much to live on where you're going, is there?
Sleep on the stone. Perhaps the ferry will be back when you awake, and you'll be able to return. But don't worry about it so much. Sleep is what you need.
*
You see a bird flying through the sky. Wings are flapping up, then down, up then down, up down, front, top, stop, pause, back stop, pause. Like a strawberry swing.
You don't mind. Without her its a waste of time.
The fields are open wide, and she is there, swinging back and forth, to and fro. Her pale complexion mirrors the gathering storm. It's coming no matter what you say. There's nothing to do to stop it. You grab a pole nearby as a tornado touches the ground, but the winds are a tad bit too strong for you to handle.
Off you go, down a wonderful yellow brick road. The witch is dead and you have to find the wizard. What a wonderful cast of characters you have with you! Did you notice the dead actor hanging from the tree behind you? Ah, no worries.
There's sand in your shoes. You sit down and empty them out. “We've no t-t-t-t-ime for tha-t-t-t-t,” the Cowardly Lion tells you. You've always wondered if any of them had real names other than Dorothy, Toto, or Glenda. What would their names be? Maybe the lion's name is Alan?
*
“There's truth in the thunder,
love in the lightning,
the feeling is frightening
and isn't it exciting?”
--Cee-Lo
*
I get so excited now when I go to see her. Her eyes bloom from behind her glasses. She keeps her hair parted to the left side, with a yellow polka-dot clip holding it behind her ear. The strawberry-patterned dress she wears blows in the wind as she stands astride the hilltop. It's a long ways down to the valley, and the ocean laps at the shore over the crest. The sun shines from behind her ruby locks as she beams her smile down to me.
God I love her.
*
Flip that switch, the one by the door. What do you see? Really? Covered in blood?
What a coincidence. That's exactly where you left him. Who? The man, the one she was with when the world stopped that day. When your world stood still. Remember how you found out which bed he was in and how you shot him with the silencer on?
*
Back and forth, to and fro you swing. Wrapped in a strawberry swing. Back, stop, pause, down, front, stop, pause. Quite a long pause. But you don't care. She's all you need. Her smile illuminates the timbers.
*
You walk down the sidewalk, awaiting the 5th Avenue bus. There's no need for a fare, the kindly old woman is praying for you. Of course, she'll want your company for the ride.
“My child,” She asks you just as a little old lady should, “What is your purpose? That is to say, my child, what are you doing here?”
You have no answer for her. You open your mouth to speak and a stream of strawberry blood trickles from your mouth. You can't stop the flow no matter how hard you try. All there is to do is sit and wait. Wait for nothing.
*
I stare in awe of the light shining from her eyes. She's so beautiful. And here, her freedom is heaven sent.
*
Dammit, you're mad now. Rose-tint your world, the sky is falling. You know better days have come around. And oft-pretending, you focus on losing the sound. The priest descends the steps of the basilica, walking briskly to where you are chained to a post. He proceeds towards you with a budded whip and lashes across your back. Each stings more than the last as fresh strawberry blood trickles down your back onto the ground below. You raise your hand and grab his arm, throwing him to the ground. He lands with a dull thud.
He better not get up.
*
Don't turn a blind eye to fate. It's there. But can there be used to describe it? Doesn't a sentence need to have a verb and a noun? Because that sentence only had a noun and an adjective. You decide. Hurry, there's little time, you need to come up with an answer. It's that important. Your life hangs in the balance. It is imperative that you answer.
*
You walk the upper deck of the cruise ship, admiring the crop of attendees. There's a beautiful young lady laying out by the pool, but she doesn't compare to the angelic beauty that you're waiting for. Everyone recognizes you; it's hard to miss someone who's been heroically rescued from the river. Or at least that's how Charon likes to put it. But you know better.
There's a grandfather clock in your room. It's made of a dark wood. The hands are a painted type of metal, with a die-cast strawberry at the end of each one. The clock has four hands: minute, hour, second, and...wait, what's this fourth one for? Can you tell? You step forward, closer to the clock.
The fourth hand is moving backwards. Counter-clockwise. How peculiar. You begin to walk backwards from your room. You're back in the ocean now, swimming up close to the shore. The hippocamp swims back to you and spits out the strawberry. “Thank you very much kind soul, but I'm afraid I won't be needing this anymore,” the beast tells you. “It's much more important to your cause now. You have been permitted passage.”
*
Heaven sent. There is truly no other way to describe her beauty.
*
You're hiding in the basement while the police search the house for evidence. It seems the man's next-door neighbor called the swine on you. There's not much for you to do now but wait it out.
You reach into your bag and pull out the rope you brought .
A theme song to a popular trivia game show begins to play in the background while you string the rope from the rafters. Like a familiar tune it warps within your mind, but you can't quite remember what it is. You move the chair under the noose...You can't stand it anymore. All of these strawberries, all of this red imagery, all of these strawberry motifs...
*
The sky is falling, a crimson tide of death crashing down on the streets. The smoke is too thick for you to see through. Buildings go up in a strawberry flame, children scream, mothers panic and blackout while fathers guard their families from the terror that ensues. A man jumps out of a window to his death as The Man signs his name with a capitol 'G' and sends retaliation. Why, you ask the heavens, why?
*
She accepts your hand, and the two of you stop swinging together. You pull away as she turns her head down, letting her strawberry curls drape over her pale face. She smiles and lets a laugh loose. The rich sound permeates through your head. You hold her tight, not wanting to let go. She blushes a strawberry hue and squeezes you closer. She tosses her locks to the side and plants a kiss on your cheek. You turn her face towards yours and lean in again, lovers finally embracing each other for eternity.
*
“There's something I wanted to say, I love her too. And all of this has got nothing to do with you...dreams sure last a long time...this is not what I call goodbye...”
--Brandon Flowers