Ngaruawahia High School Yearbooks 2010-2012 Ngaruawahia High School Yearbook 2011 | Page 34

The Park
By Sean Newman, Y13

As I wander these empty streets, I think quietly to
myself what this part of town used to be like. Off in the
distance, a piercing hail of gun fire breaks the silence and
echoes down the streets like cold evil music.
How I loath the way things were in this city.
Only a short year ago people rushed along these
streets, Newman - Year 13
by Sean quietly minding their own business. Carefully
planted gardens lined the foot paths on almost every
street. Nothing could cause a problem. Or so they
thought.
"Ahh, Main street!". Once the most important place
to be in town. Big business, luxury hotels and boutique
shops would all fight for their places. Crowds would
gather each day to shop, and when night fell another
crowd would gather to wine and dine on the street. Yet
here it is now. Broken and burning. Destroyed by the
crowds that liked to call it home.
It was 3 months ago. They invaded without warning
or care. Everything that stood in their way was destroyed.
'The front line' as it's been called by the few that have
remained, is miles from here. But everyday there is
someone shooting at someone else for some reason. It's
like the wild west but with more shooting and fire.
Strange. After a month the invaders left us. The
government had fallen in a week, and soon little gangs
began to emerge. One by one. City blocks became
occupied turf.
After another month only 2 gangs remained. One
controlled the north of the city and the other the south.
In the middle, no man's land. What was once a park full of
people and wildlife was a dead zone. You wouldn't have
dared to cross it, until now. Its nothing more than another
piece of turf now. Trees full of birds vanished like they
never existed, a pond drained to nothing more than a
dried up hole.
Hope was abandoning everything.
So here I am standing on the edge of what was

The Park

once an evergreen paradise in the heart of a concrete
jungle. In front of me are the remnants of what was once
a stone path. The stone were dug up long ago to be used
for a barricade. Just off the path is a swing, somehow
untouched by everything. I sit there just to watch the
world die.
The bench where I would sit most fine days to
watch the world pass by has gone, leaving just the
concrete slab it was attached to behind. From there I
could see the pond with the weeping willows that once
were home to the many birds. I miss them the most. This
place is so dead without the birds. If only they would
return, maybe things might go back to the way they were.
But the trees they called home are nothing but stumps by
a hole.
From this swing I can see what was once a
playground. I can remember how every day rain, hail or
shine kids would come here and play. Most were
complete strangers but that never mattered to them.
Nothing mattered. Like the birds, without them it just
made everything seem dead. A cold wind is the only thing
here to keep me company.
Along the vast expanse of what was once grass and
the many trees that filled the backdrop of the daily play
which took place here is nothing more than a scar. Still
the cold wind keeps me company. The daily play of life
passing by. Gone for now, but not forgotten. Never
forgotten.
A clump of rocks close to the swing sit out of place.
Put there to mark something. Among them is a flower. A
daisy. Amongst war and chaos, hope. Hope still remains
buried in the strangest places. This one small flower
brings me back to when this was an evergreen paradise
among the concrete jungle.
I no longer loath this city. %??????????????)???????????????????????????????????%?????????)????????????????????????((0