Hey!! What's the story?
I couldn’t go back with the police about, but I finally visited the sorry memorial a month later.
I expected sadness but felt nothing instead.
The cards and teddies were sodden and ruined but the flowers taped to the dented post were fresh, blood red roses like the bouquet I’d been taking home that night. Flowers for a lover, not a seven year old. Curious, I fished for the card but thorns snagged my hand.
Swearing, I turned away, sucking at my bloodied knuckles and hoping they weren’t infected.
A child laughed nearby.
Distracted, I slipped from the kerb.
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