“life will be better in spring”

March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 June 2009 July 2009 September 2009 October 2009 November 2009 December 2009 January 2010 February 2010 March 2010 April 2010 May 2010 June 2010 September 2010 October 2010 November 2010 January 2011 March 2011

"Sweet heart, baby are you alright?" she asked, gently pulling him onto her lap,"sweet heart, say something."'

"My head hurts," he whispered softly, still staring at his father. The broken picture frame lay next to him. The glass covering was shattered, and the frame bent. The picture, one of them all together at the park, lay scratched and torn within the mutilated frame.

"Don't worry sweet heart; we'll get you to a hospital right away," she stood, her son in her arms, and paused only to grab her purse and slip on a pair of sandals. They left the house, mother running in her short stepped, fast paced fashion. The house, in which he had grown up in; got smaller and smaller the farther they went. He watched it disappear into the distance over his mother's shoulder, terrified that father would appear. Only when it had vanished from sight did he relax and let the sweet darkness overtake him.

Labels: families