Insert standard disclaimer here.

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"What really interests me is whether God had any choice in the creation of the world."
-Albert Einstein

"I'm sorry, I couldn't do anything but watch."
-Quatre Raberba Winner, Gundam Wing

Some people say that God's world works in mysterious, unplanned ways. Everything that happens is an accident of nature, like chaos at work. Nothing can be predicted, nothing is certain to happen, everything takes place randomly.

Other people maintain that everything _has_ been planned, right from the beginning, that no one is safe from the hands of fate and destiny. Everything is inevitable and will take place in due course. It is only a matter of when.

Then, how can this meeting between several otherwise normal children be classified? A chance, a random coincidence? Or an intended, deliberate preview of what God had planned for the future?

The playground was filled with the laughter of children. The sun was beginning to set, casting long warped shadows onto the ground. One corner of the playground caught the light in a different way from the rest of the playground. The shadows were sharper, more ominous. Colours blurred around each other. This probably had no significance, except that it might have been a rendezvous point determined by higher powers, or simply by accident.

In this corner sat a small boy alone on a wooden swing. Dragging his feet against the sand, he rocked to and fro, forward and backward. An observant person would have noticed the preoccupation in his manner. Suddenly, one of his feet got stuck and he landed heavily on his knees. This seemed to be the last straw for him. He stuck his fists into his eyes, and bawled long and loudly.

By chance, or by predestination, a young boy, big for his age and dressed in a oversized tracksuit, ran up to him. Shoving him roughly onto the ground, he shouted, "What're you doing? You woke up my baby sister! Stop crying, you big baby."

The smaller boy whimpered and struggled to sit up again. "I-I'm scared! He-he-he doesn't w-want me a-anymoooooore!!"

"Oh. That's what my mum said to me when I set fire to the carpet. It was scary. But she was talking to me again after a few days. I'll bet he doesn't really mean it."

"But what I've done is worser than setting fire to a carpet," the other boy wailed. Suddenly, a person caught his eye.

"Father?" the boy cried. "Where are you going? Wait for me!" He leapt up in desperation, knocking the bigger boy out of the way and sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Father! Father!" Yet even as he spoke and approached him, he saw that it wasn't his father, and it wasn't the girl with red eyes that was holding his hand. It was a perfect stranger.

"Ouch! I'm bleeding!" exclaimed the other boy in surprise. His head had whacked against the swing when he had been pushed aside.

The first boy turned back to him, horrified. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to..."

"Nah, it's okay, just a bit of blood."

"But, I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay, really," laughed the boy. "I'd stay to play with you, but my mum says I have to go home now. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow!" He grinned with the innocence and friendliness of a four-year old, and ran off into the sunset.

The smaller boy watched his shape grow smaller and smaller as he disappeared into the distance. He plopped back down onto the swing. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt tears of self-pity seep out of them.

By chance, or by predestination, a certain little girl of about the same age had witnessed the whole affair. This little girl was not in a very good state of mind either, since she had recently gone through a family crisis, overseas. But now she was back in Japan, the land of her ancestry--at least, one of them--to get away from it all, as her father and her new mother had put it.

Curiously, she walked over to the boy. "Hey," she said in her native language. "Why are you crying?"

The boy looked up in surprise at the strange, foreign words coming from the mouth of the sharp-eyed, red-headed girl. "I don't understand."

The girl frowned, then remembered that in this country she was supposed to speak in the language her mother--her old mother--used to speak. Sighing in annoyance, she forced her mouth to adapt to this unfamiliar tongue. "I said, why're you crying?"

"My... my mother's dead, and my father doesn't want me a-anymore."

"Che!" said the girl contemptuously. "You're stupid. Only babies cry. Look at me: I'm not crying, even though _my_ mother's dead and _my_ father doesn't want me anymore."

The boy was shocked, as if meeting someone who had gone through the same traumatic experience as him was impossible. "Has he sent you away too?"

"Of course not! He's here as well, with HER."

"Then how come you said he doesn't want you?"

"My father's got me a new mother. That means he doesn't love me and my old mother anymore."

The boy tried to imagine his father getting a new mother. He would hate it if that happened. Then he noticed the girl's self-satisfied smirk. Not to be outdone, he tried something else.

"MY father sent me away to live with my teacher," retorted the boy with indignity.

"My father wouldn't do that. He'd be really sad without me. He said so."

"Oh." Suddenly, the boy found that he had nothing to be proud of.

"Where's your father sent you to? Germany? I think Germany's the best place in the world. Not like this stupid old place."

"I don't know. Maybe," said the boy dismally.

"Haven't you been to Germany before?" The girl looked surprised.

"No." The boy shook his head. "Where's that?"

"Hmph. You're boring and stupid," the girl stated, looking him up and down, taking in his tear-streaked face, his soiled knees, his red-rimmed eyes. "You're such a big baby! I hate babies. I don't want to talk to you any more."

"No, wait! Don't go... I'm lonely. I need you, I need you to..."

But she was already gone.

Once again, the boy was left alone with his swing and isolated corner of the playground. The girl had left him behind. It had hurt him more than he thought. Filled with self-pity, he tried to squeeze more tears out of his eyes, in the hope that the girl would notice and return, but none would come. Instead, a weary sigh escaped from his mouth.

"Hey, are you all right?" asked a friendly voice.

The voice belonged to a boy about his age, a year or two older perhaps. He had deep red eyes, a mop of untidy white hair and the sincerest smile the younger boy had ever seen. The newcomer sat down on the swing next to him.

"Aren't you lonely sitting here all by yourself?" asked the newcomer curiously.

The younger boy sniffed and nodded his head.

"I'll stay with you, if you like."

The boy looked surprised, and smiled gratefully. They swung in silence, broken by the creaking of the wooden swings and the older boy's quiet humming.

"What are you humming?" asked the younger boy after a while.

The other boy thought a while. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I just made it up."

"Really? You must be clever then. It sounds very nice."

"Why, thank you." The older boy looked pleased. "No one's ever said they liked my music. It annoys them. But it makes me happy. Do you sing?"

"Sing?" The younger boy mulled for a moment. "No."

"Never?"

"Not usually."

"You should try singing some music sometimes. It makes you feel happy. Or you can hum. It doesn't matter. I hum because I never know the words." He laughed, and the younger boy laughed with him.

Suddenly the older boy tensed, sensing something. "I have to go now."

"Go? Already?" The younger boy was crestfallen. He liked the other boy. "Will you come again tomorrow?"

"No. I'll be away."

"Will I ever see you again then?"

"Maybe. Hey, don't look so sad. I'll meet you again, I promise." He smiled a little wistfully. "Goodbye."

"Oh. Bye-bye."

The boy was left alone for the last time that day. The sun had already set. Dim light from lamp-posts cast fuzzy shadows all around him. He didn't want to go home.

After what seemed like an eternity, rapid, light footsteps got louder, approaching and stopping in front of him. "You still here?"

It was the sharp-eyed, red-headed girl from earlier. She was holding two lollipops. "You want one?"

When he accepted it, she sat down in the swing next to him and started rocking back and forth. "It was boring inside, so my daddy let me come outside to play for a while."

The creaking of a solitary swing filled the air, eventually joined by the creaking of a second swing, and the joyful slurps of children on their lollipops.

"Hey! I bet I can swing higher'n you."

Maybe it was by chance, or by predestination, that afterwards none of the four children involved returned to that particular playground, or had any recollection of that day's events. Ten years later, these four children who's destiny was to shape the future, shaped it.