The late August sun beats down upon the flat metal of the playground equipment; the shining sheets of aluminum kick sizzling heat up into the air and scalding any bare skin that dares to touch it. School is back in, but no joy can be found in lunch recess, for the boiling air serves only as a reminder of the summer lost, the freedom taken from you and replaced with rigid rules and sturdy schedules.
You and your ragtag group of jaded pre-teens sit scattered about the merry-go-round, bored nearly to tears. You munch joylessly on a plain ham and cheese sandwich while your friends enjoy similarly flavorless fare.
“This fucking blows,” you proclaim.
“Yeah,” Billy agrees. “I wish school didn’t gobble so much cock.”
“If only somebody could save us,” Jarvis adds.
This would be a perfect time for someone to show up with a fruit snack marketed specifically to children.
An arctic-cool guitar riff cuts through the air as a cloud of yellowish smoke erupts from the dusty ground in front of the carousel, giving off a sour, sulfury odor. A lone figure cuts through the smoke in front of you and your chums – a tall boy not much older than you with flowing brown hair dressed in a yellow leotard. On the boy’s chest is a dark brown design that resembles a upside-down mushroom cloud with a sickly green capital G in the center.
“Did somebody say fart?” he asks in a raspy rock-and-roller voice.
“No,” explains Jarvis, “I sai-“
Before Jarvis can finish, the strange kid makes a jumping spin and bends over in front of Jarvis’ face. He lets loose a cacophonous flatulence which appears to heat Jarvis with such force that he falls back onto the baking sheet metal of the roundabout.
“What are you doing?” you shout as you stand, ball your fists, and approach the gassy interloper, ready to strike.
The kid appears confused. “Didn’t you…you guys wanted farts, right?” he asks timidly.
“No, nobody said anything about farts!”
“Oh,” he says in a tone of utter defeat. “Nobody ever wants farts, you know? Kids always want fruit snacks or Kool-aid. This sucks.” He turns and walks away without another word.
You feel a tinge of guilt run across your heart. “Hey!” you call out to the kid as he nears the edge of the playground.
The fart kid turns around, a hopeful smile on his face.
“Fuck you, man! You suck!”