[ WP ] Write about a single frozen moment in a scene - slowly revealing things as they are all stuck at one single point of time .

There are no flowers in the park. 
 
 The park is an urban one. The trees and bushes have been supplanted by benches and signs. Towering electrical poles reach for the sky but offer no shade. 
 
 There is no grass in the park. 
 
 The ground is covered in a mat made of rubbery foam. Dark red here with swirls of blue there. The foam flows under the amalgam of metal and plastic that forms the play area. Here there are swings. Here there are slides. There are bars for grasping, ropes for climbing, and bridges for running. The mat offers safety for tumbles but no tall grass to hide in. 
 
 There are no woodland creatures in the park. 
 
 There are children. Running and screaming. Some sit on plastic bulges shaped like rocks. Unlike real rocks these plastic boulders are slippery and smooth. There is no texture or grip. Children must dig in with their fingers into the shaped crevices to keep from falling off. Other children are running across wooden bridges that swing and sway with each step. The children clutch and grasp at nylon ropes to steady their steps to keep from falling off. The playground equipment offers entertainment but no shelter. 
 
 One little girl, a blonde girl by the name of Hillary Jerkins, has fallen from the top of the slide. 
 
 The fall to the rubbery foam below will not break her bones. The cushion of the foam will easily absorb the impact. The water proof lining will make the blood easily to clean up leaving no reminders of the accident to frighten other children in days to come. 
 
 There are no bird songs in the park. 
 
 Madison, a precocious 15 year old who is sitting on the bench and who had been paying more attention to her Honors History assignment than to her charge, has looked away from her book for the first time since arriving. She does n't see Hillary. Not yet. For the moment she has forgotten all about her history assignment as well has her babysitting job. She is not thinking about how important the project is for her grade nor is she thinking about how much Hillary's mother, a recently divorced mother, had stressed she was relying on Madison's help. For the moment she is only thinking about the odd sound that echoed above the roar of a dozen prepubescent voices screaming. A sound that would repeat soon enough. 
 
 There are no insects flying in the park. 
 
 The flying thing is made of metal. Forged from molted lead and shaped into a projectile. It is not truly flying. Rather, it is falling. It only appears to be flying because of an explosion that occurred when the hammer struck the primer in back and setting off a chain reaction that resulted in a miniature explosion that set it in motion. 
 
 The bullet has just exited the barrel of a rifle held by a man just outside the park. For the moment the bullet is traveling just slightly faster than the sound created by the explosion that had set it in motion. This is the third bullet that has left the barrel of this gun today. The first had been fired less than half an hour ago at a nearby bungalow where a harried Mrs. Jenkins had just collected her car keys and was desperate not to be late for her shift at the local hospital. Her absence would not be noted for another half hour and the police would not arrive for another fifteen minutes. The second bullet, fired less than a minute ago, had not been so true to its mark. The target had been moving and Hillary had only been struck in the shoulder and this had caused her to cry out in pain and start to fall. She would soon impact with the foam below and risked bruising. The third bullet, however, is already on its way to meet her there. Mr. Jenkins plans to use the fourth bullet on himself. 
 
 There is no place to hide in the park. A hunter has arrived.
