(Author’s Note: None. Just enjoy today’s fictioneers! And Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms.)
by Miles H. Rost
The park was full of them. Each and every one of them a precious life.
It was always this way after the first warm-up of the season. Kids in their sweatshirts and jeans were playing. It was great for us adults to see.
I just turned onto 45th when the sun blazed between the two large buildings ahead. I squinted and got my visor down as quickly as possible.
That’s when I heard the thump.
Then the screams.
I stopped my car immediately, got out, and looked behind me.
She wore orange that day. I didn’t see her.
She was 12.
R.I.P. Roberto Concina (aka Robert Miles)