“Reyna? Reyna?” Cynthia stumbled around the park, hand trying to staunch the blood escaping from her torn cheek. She watched a young man, no more than a boy, jam an arm back on a fountaining stump. Over and over the two pieces of burned meat met, before he toppled over.
“Reyna? Why? God, why did this happen?” Cynthia tripped, tumbling to the ground. She glanced back to see a pair of brown boots without an owner.
She squirmed around, quivering hand outstretched. Sirens wailed closer, the air churning with reds and blues.
Her eyes blurred as the world ended on those boots.
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Happy Reading and Writing!