It was beautiful.

There was a strong tree in the yard, with a rickety old swing tied to its branches. It was too fragile to actually be used, but Sam liked to imagine that it had been used before. That it had been the centerpiece of shrieking laughter and childish whispers. He could imagine the exuberant smiles, warm with the sun.

There would be popsicles eaten on the porch, leaving sticky fingers and leaving mouths stained blue. Tender care as someone wiped the juice away from their skin despite any fussing.

Innocent.

Sam sighed, pushing himself up from his spot on the front porch chair as slowly as he liked. There was no one to look at hummed pityingly out here- not when the closest house was miles away. He could take his time standing up without thinking about the looks his burn covered skin would garner.

They weren’t decorative, the skin too tight around his waist and cheek- making it hard to move or smile without cracking open the skin like wet paper.

But it was quiet here, and the cool air of the afternoon seems to soothe the burns like no aointment or cream prescribed could.

The fragile swing swung in the breeze, but it did not break.

Sam didn’t touch it, letting it sit as it was.

It didn’t fall.