Suddenly, my feet land onto soft grass. I look around me. I hear the birds chirping. Glimmers of sunlight flicker through the breaks of the vast clouds stretching over head, casting long shadows of the playground equipment. I hear the laughter and joy of children's playing. I look and see them singing, dancing with hands held in an ever-moving circle. The girls' long hair falls with a slow rhythm. The slow, peaceful rhythm of this place. The slow bouncing of the thrown balls. The constant swell and fall of those flying through the air on the swings. Then there is the crying, the fighting, the uncontrollable. I hear that very clearly. It shatters the rhythm, the pristine serenity of this place. I can hear that clearest of all. It rips my ears, tearing at them with a force I did not expect. I also hear, but this is softer, the quiet murmuring of two old men. My eyes scan and I see them playing chess with their cold, steel pawns with careful, crooked hands.
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