Park... a short story

A New Short Story, please Enjoy 🙏

'Park' by Michael Hislop

On a day just like any other, in a city right near You, resides Park. Prince Albert Park to be exact, but just Park to His Friends.

Royal in Name and by Nature, Albert came from a long line of Parks and a long line of Princes. So Nobility was natural and normal to Prince Albert Park. And, He had inherited a large Estate, hectares and hectares of rolling lawns and luxurious gardens surrounded by sandstone walls and ironwork fences.

All about were signs of privilege… priceless statues of dead people, marquees with giant terraces, plus plenty of grand avenues and pretty pathways, and a trail of suitors too. Life for Prince Albert Park was a regal breeze, long languishing days becoming bustling all-nighters. A regular routine, the calendar turning over seeming endlessly… yet Park seemed never to tire.

Park was far from young, some might even say old, but It only showed on Him in handsome ways, in the patina of His browns and His grays, in His Style gentlemanly but out of place, and in His airs and His graces.

But Park, Himself, still felt youthful. Weathered and survived despite the ravages of Human and Time… Is how He would describe. Wise too from so much seen and said… so many Lives from beginning to end.

Yet, despite This, Park still relished in revels, especially those of other people. One of His favorite pastimes was watching all the crazy sights dotted with unruly fights decorated by shouts and flowers under any sunshine or showers.

But like all Princes, though Prince Albert Park lived a Life of dedicated ease, He lived somewhat constrained and circumscribed. Park felt consigned to existing frozen in posture as pose, adorned only to be adored. It was a matter of some ongoing consternation for Prince Park, and often He felt the butt of all refuse, refuge and abuse, with some politics and comedy and graffiti thrown at Him for good measure.

Partly, the problem was that no one recognized Royalty anymore. And, on those rare occasions when they did, it definitely was not in ways respectful. So, Park lived royally, but half-hidden and mostly-forgotten. His Gardens and His Lawns slowly being submerged by the rows of towers rising to house the people that He has always served.

“Service is kind of weird like That, people tend to forget, especially when It is done well.” Thought Park.

It was 4:30am, and the New Day though begun, had not yet caught on. All around was dark like pitch, and everywhere was so quiet, dead silent. No others were in sight, just the magpies snoring, with a bullfrog also roaring before The Dawn.

And there was also Prince Alfred Park awake and alone, savoring the cool crisp early morning. These, the few moments of each day when Prince Albert Park could finally relax and exhale, and just be Himself.

Funnily, Park never needed sleep, though He noted that almost everyone and everything else was chained to a ritual circadian. Park often wondered at the absurdities inherent in the demands of sleep. Sleep, really a habit self-imposed, for after childhood, sleep is only an option, as all Parents know.

Park laughed at the comedy of this sleep situation. The fact that Human Society wasted stupendous amounts of energy to sleep during hours of The Sun, only to then also blast energy to light the night in pursuit of largely unproductive leisure.

Prince Park’s musings must have woken the currawongs at home in the big Fig Tree. Park heard them start their stirring, all rowdy chattering, their nattering echoing about… clearly They were unhappy at being disturbed.

Just then also appeared a glowing light, shining in the night. And, It moved too, whizzing about, up and down, and back and forth, until showing a girl… dolled up in gown yet slightly stumbling with only one shoe. She speaking shrilly and hysterically into her mobile-phone. I’m lost, the scene said.

Bemused, Park knew…“There goes my Quiet Time.”

It was indeed a touch too early. There was still more than an hour before the Sun would show up, but no one ever counted a Prince’s hours and dos. So, sleepless and mischievous, Prince Park opted to sit for awhile on the wooden bench under the big Fig Tree. Here is where He liked to watch each and every Rising.

Aseat under the big Fig Tree, “Grandfather” as He called It, Park was almost at home. Here as They talked or as They just sat, He felt time give way and eternity return again for awhile to stay. And for precious moments, He knew anew the Joy and Peace of the Unity of Bird and Bench, Park and Tree, Grandfather and Prince.

Park told Grandfather everything and anything, including everything that He would tell no other one. And Grandfather always listened quietly and kindly, often nodding knowingly along. Sometimes others joined in too, ensuring rowdy debates… In the Red Corner is someone on the bench and in the Blue Corner is the man shouting from the grassy knoll.

“Oh No! Not again!” Smiled Prince Albert Park.

Before long, the Sun arrived making customary majestic entrance, before a crowd of waiting courtiers… Two security guards yawning after the night shift, a bus driver scowling at his watch as he is late, and an overdressed banker wearing wooden heels who seemingly just can’t wait… Some curious, but many oblivious to the obvious, and most just racing on their way.

A few too were celebrating the end of the night in evident delight… Tai Chi exercisers stretching to the uplifting lilts of the ruan and the pipes… Mums with faces upturned and eyes closed, supervising toddlers running amok… and a steady stream of dogs towing their owners towards their morning deposits.

All this saw Park and Grandfather asat on the bench. Besides sat a muttering garbage bin, Its lid clanging Its distress. Between the clamor, Park could just make out the reason for all the stress. He heard… “To live without A Purpose is dire, but to know One’s Purpose, and still to see It unfulfilled is direst. What a Life? So Meaningless! To sit at rest, unused, and Empty inside, is the sorest Test.”

And, Grandfather swayed down to point out the endless passing line of commuters and walkers with the occasional dodging joggers… youths in school uniform, roaming in twos and threes and fives, office workers rushing and hurrying, and secretaries with mirrors out, trying to look nice, alongside an older lady pushing a shopping cart full of belongings. This daily procession, an odd assortment in train, was leaving a stain of refuse and rubbish all about. All the people were depositing their spent containers and rubbish everywhere around, everywhere but with the garbage bin and his colleagues.

“Ironic and Tragic, truly a comedy and a tragedy…” commented Park.

But it wasn’t all Hopeless for Bother Bin. As just then, Father Dragon and Mother Monitor decide that the rim of the garbage bin is just the perfect spot to sunsoak for the day. And, quickly they set-up camp, unpacking an impressive buffet… Mmmm… flies and roaches and worms.

“Sometimes adoption is better than alone” knew Park. Prince Albert Park had never known of His Parents, or even if Princes like Him had Parents. So, He well understood about being alone. But It had never really mattered much to Prince Park, as ever since His earliest Memory, His “Naming Ceremony,” He had been well cared for by The Government and The People.

Since, Prince Albert Park had no major complaints. Aside from the exigencies of age and modernity, His Life is Good, and Park was Grateful. Grateful for Existence, Grateful for Sun, Grateful for Trees, Grateful for Grass, Grateful for Birds, Grateful for People, Grateful for Life.

As Park counted His Blessings, the Sun did too, traversing the sky, doing faithfully Its daily Duty, bringing benefits everywhere… There and Here and There. Park saw… an old man sitting on a stone wall, eyes rheumy and hands unsteady, but a smile was spreading across his lips as the warmth of the Sun brought him to himself again. Park saw too… a sunbather, topless, stark and beautiful, and besides a friend, equally beautiful, applying sunscreen liberally. Park saw also… children adoring the afternoon, running about excitedly, a game of catch-me-if-you-can afoot.

There is an elderly couple too, married for fifty years Today, eating gelato between giggles and kisses, and two middle-aged drunks, drinking wine without a glass, adding loudly to the merry. And, There are boys and girls and babies, and men and women, big and small, in groups and in singles, good and bad, happy and sad, and some even mad. There are council workers and policemen on horseback too… Park noticed, as He drifted dozing in the late afternoon.

Only to awaken with a start to the cacophony of evening rush hour, beeps and honks and air brakes. Bleary and hazy was Park’s sight, as the shadows quickly crept up on the light. The effect was alike a painting, not acrylic or watercolor, but oily and all moody, each moment a new glimpse of what besets.

“Night falls… Miss Nyx” Park proclaimed.

Nyx was a mistress with which He was well acquainted, Her and The Creatures of The Night, Those of different kinds and differing Light.

And, each Night, Park saw Them all… the loners, that inhabit the night, hating to be seen… her without a bed, toothless and ragged, a blanket in hand… the searchers, you can tell by their eyes that they are looking for whatever can be found… the many drinkers out for a great night… the druggies looking for their next hit… and the randy lovers looking for a private spot.

A marijuana smell, drifting on the breeze catches Park’s attention. Spicy and enticing; One of His affections, so off He wanders to discover the source, and There… a small group of two guys and two girls, laughing as they smoked.

Park introduced Himself with a quip… “High on weed, is High with Life, and if It’s not, at least Its nice.”

Park and the four students from the University of Technology talked for hours and hours, enjoying the company and the liberties of the night. Intelligently and passionately They prattle and joke… from God to Aliens to WWIII to Poverty to His Majesty… sometimes breaking into argument and sometimes bursting into song. They were from a theatre troupe after all, but everything was respectful and convivial.

But as always, the party gets ruined by a nasty few. And, as Park and the four sat, a group of interlopers approached. All male, and very young, they sported their menace for fun. The tallest and biggest, threatening in backwards cap and hoodie, called out… “Hey! What you got There? Smells like some good shit. So what about you give It here, or else me and my boys will just take It.” And without warning, he began repeatedly punching Park’s new Friends, wherein an all-in brawl begins.

Flying fists and ripped shirts amidst angry shouts and jumping kicks and stumbling falls, as the sirens get louder and louder and nearer and nearer… and the police respond as everyone melts away, leaving Prince Albert Park alone for the coming of another Day.