Waist Deep

11

Her eyes were open.

Cold.

But she was grinning, her small cheeks rounded as her lips turned up in a smile that might welcome a new lunch box or her favorite teacher.It might have been the smile she flashed in answer to the question, Do you want me to push you on the swing, Amy?It was a child’s smile, full of innocence and hope and it sat upon her face like the sun.

Until she saw me.

Then the smile faded.Her mouth slackened and finally hung open lifelessly.Then I was able to see her matted hair, splotched with black dirt and rust.

But it wasn’t rust.

It is. It is rust! I screamed.

But I knew it wasn’t.

It was blood and I knew it and then the light faded from her eyes, fixing me with an accusing, silent cry.

You’re too late, those eyes said.

I’m sorry. I-

But it doesn’t matter what I say.

Her eyes were right.