I actually fixed my mistakes in this one!

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“Long Ago, in the Twilit Park” – Otsuchi


When I was in elementary school, I remember there was a small little park surrounded by buildings not far from where we lived. Every day, when the sun fell away behind the horizon, the noises of busy cars and busy people would vanish without a trace and in that silence a child’s shoe would sometimes be left on the ground forgotten. It was that kind of park.


When it became time for dinner, all the friends I had been playing with would go home to their parents. I would always have to stay there killing time, waiting for mine. When I got tired of swinging by myself, I would go play in the sand box as if I was summoned. The little one in the corner. The kids were usually so engrossed with the swings and the slides that the corner was always forgotten.


Without anyone to talk to I played in the sand while the setting sun slid behind the buildings without a sound and painted the world red. A yellow bucket sat left behind by who knows who. I sat, took off my shoes, and piled sand onto my feet. It was cold and the little grains of sand sliding down in-between my toes felt good.


I amused myself by sticking my hand deep down into the sand. I wanted to see how far down it actually went. I stuck my arm straight down, all the way until my shoulder was almost inside too. I asked my dad about the bottom-less sandbox, but he did not believe me saying, “Of course the sand box has a bottom — so how could that be possible?” I knew he was wrong. I did get my arm all the way into the sand. I did again and again, sticking my arm all the way in.


I lost count when finally something happened. The setting sun was casting long, pitch-black shadows from the trees in the corner. I stuck my right arm all the way into the sand to my shoulder again and felt something brush against my fingertips.


Something seemed to be buried there. I needed to figure out what it was, so I stuck my arm all the way to the bottom of the sandbox. My middle finger could just barely brush against it. It was plump and springy and I wanted to just rip it out but it was just out of reach. Instead, I felt something wrapping around my fingers. I pulled my hand out to discover a clump of someone’s long black hair. It was dirty and damaged — a girl’s hair, I thought.


Once again I tried to dig down and touch whatever it was that was buried in there. But no matter how hard I tried, no matter how far down I stuck my hand, I could not find anything. I felt disappointed.


With everything turning the color red before me, the buildings with their closed windows surrounded me like a giant wall, cutting me off from the rest of the world. Suddenly, with my right hand deep in the sand, I felt something. It was just a small little touch, like a fish biting me with the tip of its mouth.


Without warning, something grabbed my wrist and squeezed firmly. I tried to pull my hand out but it was stuck tight. There was no one around, so my cries for help just echoed off those massive walls. My tightly clenched fist was forced open and I could feel the touch of someone’s fingers on my palm. I realized she was trying to write something.


“Get me out!” she wrote on my palm.


I dug my left hand down into the sand but…


“Can’t,” I wrote and disappointed, she released my hand. I pulled both my arms out of the sandbox and went home. After that I did not go anywhere near that sandbox.

Sometime later, I heard that they were going to tear down the park to build an apartment complex. I went to take a look as they dug the sandbox up, but it did not look deep enough for anything to be buried down there.