There is a young man lying in the middle of the street in his own blood.
Wound, gaping, wide open in the back of this head.
Brain exposed, bones turned to pulp, blood spilling.
All the while, his mother behind the yellow tape screaming
“My baby! Why, why MY baby?”
The policeman tells her it was an accident.
Wrong place, at the wrong time,
caught in the crossfire.
All she sayin’ is “Why my baby, why?”
His body turns cold.
Fingertips turn black and his body morphs into something unheard of.
At this time his killer laughs as he watches the boy’s mother weep.
Gun in hand, still warm as he puts it to his temple,
pushing it forward as if forcing it into his skull,
too scared to fire it, he lets it drop.
As it hits the ground it goes off, shooting the slain man’s mother.
With her last breath, she says, “Bury me next to my baby.”
Her body turns to ice.
The killer weeps, and cackles again.