Number nine cut past 2 defenders before slotting it into goal. Laughter filled the air. Number nine wheeled around and smiled as if he just scored the most important goal in his entire lifetime. The spectators on the sidelines looked on without much reaction. The goalkeeper tried in vain not to take the blame. The 2 defenders looked at each other in disbelief. The goalkeeper took the ball and threw it back into the centre of the field. The players took their places again and prepared to avenge the point conceded.
“Hey!” a shout rang over the pitch. All the players look toward the sound. The shout broke the rhythm of the play and plunged the children back into reality. Number nine was a child; the goal was makeshift; the spectators were maids, young parents and passer-bys. The game was fueled by imagination and passion.
“It’s dinner time! Come now!” the string of instructions followed. A boy hastily said his goodbyes and disappeared out of the playground. The others groan and huddled together to engage yet again in the transfers of players.
Across the playground, another group was preparing to start their activities. This group waited in the flanks, for the time being. They were waiting for the children to clear. And they will, but not at the moment. There was a greater sign that would usher the children back home. No parent’s call could compare to this sign that would soon sweep the playground.
The sky had gradually started to dark. The sky was divided into two distinct parts. The setting sun covered half the sky in an orange hue while the dark slowly intensified itself on the other. Ever ready to take over once the sun left the skyline.
The sun set quickly on this December day. Even before the sun had set completely, the darkness had already started to sweep across the sky. The sun disappeared and the darkness took over the sky, spilling into every corner of the infinite sky. Soon it was dark, and the children had stopped their game, but they were still there.
Then as always, the sign began to happen. Like clockwork, the street lamps began to light up. The bulbs in the street lamps flickered to life, all at the same time, throwing everything into an orange hue. Everyday at exactly seven, the lights would come on. The lights ended of the children’s regime and ushered the reign of the elderly.
The children left instinctively, leaving the imaginary field for home. The void the children left behind was quickly filled by the group of elderly men and women. The elderly group spread themselves out evenly in the open space and they stretched. The group waited for their leader, who was fashionably late as always.
There were no more screams of joy and despair from the children and the playground was relatively quiet albeit for the noise coming from the road beyond. The maids made little noise, laughing occasionally while the young parents spoke in hushed whispers, watching their tots wander nearby.
Then a man walked onto the playground. He was as old as any of the elderly people present, but he seemed to be the frailest. He carried an old fashioned ghetto blaster which seemed too heavy for him, bending him over. He smiled and waved a greeting to the elderly group and they smiled and nodded their reply. He moved to a bench nearby and placed the player onto it and slipped his singlet off. His shriveled torso attracted the attention of everyone present. But just as quickly, he wrapped a loose fitting robe around him and tied the robe close.
Turning around, he pressed one of the many buttons on the player and he moved to the front of the group. By then the group had all stood up. The leader bowed and the group did likewise. As if on cue, the player came to life filling the air with a slow traditional Chinese melody.
