Stock still on the sidewalk, the wail emanates from a blond-haired boy, no older than 5. One arm hung limp at his side, the other stretched out, desperately pointing at the source of his terror. The eyes of the crowd follow the line from his pointing finger and a cumulative gasp rises into the still air. Sprawled 30 feet from a vacated Chevy, it can only be assumed the lifeless heap is the mother. Her head twisted at a garish angle, legs contorted into impossible zigzags. No one would believe she was still alive. Made all the more surreal by the one missing shoe and the crudely ripped skirt.
The muffled scream of a siren rises up over the shocked silence. Someone among the horrified onlookers must have lurched out of their stupor. The dissonant lament of the ambulance soon drowns out the child's crying and the blank stares turn to distracted indifference. With a few pitying glances tossed at the abandoned boy, the crowd disperses. Crisis over. While the paramedic crew cleans up the carnage, the slamming of car doors brings the day's routine crashing back to the morning traffic. So the world begins to revolve again. And at the center, a little blond boy without a mom. Crash.
Actually sad this time,
- The Sad Blogger
