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.
Word Count: 174
Time: 55 minutes