Tag Archives: plastic
I slide into it smoothly, its sides pinning my arms. Above me, two pale cream strip lights gleam, trying to be reassuring. A single dark scratch on the hard plastic surface hangs above my face. I close my eyes, hoping … Continue reading
It slides into a shaft of sunlight and stops dead. Its plastic bodywork glows bright orange in the light, headlights glinting. A child’s hand appears and its moment in the sun is over.
He pushes a bright red, plastic train on wheels. A blue dummy hangs from his mouth. He smiles at his mother as she bends down to remove it. Stiff-legged with the newness of walking, he toddles up the gentle slope.
They bob on the pool’s surface, abandoned. Plastic primary colours contrast with the sunlit, brilliant blue of the water. The joyful babies who played with them are gone, but still they float, awaiting their return.
A tiny baby’s hand curls itself around the handle-post on the bus. The pink little fingers, brand new and tipped with their perfect little nails, stand out against the plastic, orange garishness of the post. Both man-made, yet one so … Continue reading
The woman carries a bright red plastic sledge, the ridges on its base white with snow. From behind her skips a little girl, dressed head to toe in pink. She stops dead and turns towards her mother, then falls straight … Continue reading