The boy was blind and deaf,

and he wandered.

For moments that felt like ages, I saw destruction inch its way toward him

with creeping, choking fingers.

Incapable of warning him or stopping the approach,

I just watched.

My stomach churned equal parts fear and bile.

I knew that I would ache for his losses,

that beholding the scene would shatter my joy.

Still, I watched.

In treacherous depths of insuppressible thought,

I also wondered if relief would arrive

once I no longer had to agonize over the imminent impact.

Guilt followed this contemplation, of course;

only a few people delight in the total blindsiding of another.

Internally, I reaffirmed my commitment to his revival and recovery.

This eased a small fragment of the regret

for my brief, selfish wish for a swift conclusion

and for my utter uselessness in the ordeal.

Bearing witness as carnage drew ever nearer to him

felt like high treason against humanity.

Yet, I watched.

The entire way, regardless of my inner despair,

the boy wandered,

blind and deaf.

Photo Credit

Word Count: 174

Time: 55 minutes