A piece written in 2023 during a writing workshop but I still adore it so <3 here!
Hopscotch was Auburn’s favourite game. The rules were always so clear, even as he got older. Sometimes, he needed the comfort of understanding exactly what to do.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.
That’s why he was out here, on a hopscotch course in a playground, at 4 in the morning.
9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Over and over.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.
Minutes passed by, and before she knew it, they had been there for an hour.
9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
“Hey Auburn,” a voice called from across the playground, over by the swing set.
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“Detective,” Auburn greeted him without looking up. They didn’t have to.
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“What are you doing out here?”
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“Hopscotch.”
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“Well, I can see that.” The detective crossed over to stand by her. “But why?”
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Oxley always wanted to know why. Auburn never had an answer for him. How could they? It was just hopscotch.
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“Care to join?” she asked, choosing to dodge his original question.
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“I’ve never played.” The first rays of sun slowly peeked through the evergreen branches of the trees.
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“It’s easy,” Auburn shrugged. “You’ll be able to figure it out.”
Pause.
“I really shouldn’t,” Oxley stepped back, rethinking. He had asked why Auburn was there, but why was he there? “I should bring you in, right now.”
“Ooh. Go right ahead,” they teased him. Both of them knew that he wouldn’t. “If you can beat me at a game, I’ll even let you arrest me.”
“Fine. But I’m arresting you either way,” Oxley huffed. His lies were like a thin piece of tissue paper, easily torn apart by the smallest winds. Auburn handed him the stone.
“Throw it to the first box,” they instructed. Oxley did so, but the stone bounced and clattered into the second box. “You skip your turn then,” Auburn laughed as they picked up the rock and effortlessly tossed it into the first box. “And now I hop into it.” She hopped onto one foot.
1.
Oxley grabbed the rock and failed at another toss. This time, the rock didn’t even make it onto the board. Auburn smiled at him, hopping to the next square.
2, 3.
On his third attempt, Oxley finally managed to land the rock in the space. He jumped onto it on one leg, staggering before stabling himself.
4.
Oxley took a moment before jumping, landing on the second and third squares.
5, 6.
He did his best to hop to the next but he tripped, falling down to the ground.
7.
Auburn didn’t seem to react. She seemed to be focused on the game.
8, 9.
…Was she?
10.
Oxley watched as they continued on, their game turning back into having only one player.
9, 8, 7, 6, 5.
He felt like there was something Auburn wasn’t telling him. Well, obviously there was. They had avoided his questions about the game before. But he was so curious.
4, 3, 2, 1.
There had to be a real reason why Auburn was so intent on playing hopscotch. He had never seen a self-admitted murderer be so intense about a children’s game.
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But then again, Auburn was nothing like every other murderer.
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“Aroura,” Oxley called out to them. She paused briefly.
“Hm?”
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“Does this make you feel safe?”
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“What do you mean, detective?”
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“Do you find comfort in playing kid’s games?”
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“Yes.”
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“Why?”
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They stopped again, and turned to look at him.
“I’m not telling you anything about my past,” he hissed. Oxley recoiled in surprise. They weren’t usually aggressive to him.
“Got it,” Oxley nodded. “No questions about your childhood.” Auburn’s face returned to the blank slate that it had been beforehand.
“Glad we agree.”
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Oxley still wondered what had happened to Auburn. He knew they had struggled, but he wanted to know so much more about him.
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It made sense why they wouldn’t share intimate information with Oxley. Why would she want to share that with the cop who was supposed to arrest him?
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The sun was lifting itself higher and higher into the sky, bathing the two people in golden-pink light.
9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
“I should really go,” Oxley conceded, his breath coming out in small puffs of fog. Suddenly, a hand was on his arm and Auburn was pulling him close. Oxley’s hand instinctively shifted to his belt, where his gun would be if he had brought one. Instead of hurting him, Auburn wrapped him into a hug. Oxley returned it, carefully hugging her back. The murderer clung tightly to his suit as he stuffed their face into Oxley’s shoulder.
They stayed there for six full minutes, neither daring to speak.
Eventually, Auburn released him.
“Goodnight detective,” she ducked her head to Oxley before wandering off into the woods. Oxley’s police-inclined brain told him to chase them, but he didn’t. He just watched them go, not moving until they had disappeared behind the treeline.
Then, he picked up the stone and threw it onto the first square.
