Little Boys Shouldnt Cry

The faint glow of fading sunlight barely lit the cold, damp grass. The strength of its power, swept away by the crisp dusk wind, slipped faintly through gently swaying leaves creating shadows that danced eerily to the demonic song of a darkening night. The youthful presence of laughter and joy that once filled the city park was now nothing but echoes of what it used to be. An unearthly silence settled. The sun disappeared underneath the horizon, slowly plunging the park into a destructive darkness. A bright white glow of light suddenly burst into life, radiating from the small modern solar lights that dotted the park like fireflies illuminating the twisting paths and the hulking shape of the playground.

A small arm hung from the weathered wooden platform that held the playground together. Its pale surface contrasting with the scratched orange plastic, which shaped one of the many childish slides. A droplet of pure crimson slid lazily down the unblemished skin, welling at the tip of a creamy white finger and falling slowly, landing with a sickening splash on the grass. The path of liquid was defined by a bright trail that led up, tracing over the porcelain softness of the collarbone to return to the bloody gash that should have been a throat. The face above it was unmarked except for a sprinkling of freckles over high masculine cheekbones. Fear shone like tears in crystal blue eyes that now had the dullness of death. Short charcoal hair lay limply around the face. It was a child. A young boy. Something moved in the darkness behind the body, just visible in the shadows cast by the dim lights.

A woman, gaunt-faced with long black hair that was an identical shade to the boy's. The cool wind whipped her blood-spattered dress from side to side making it scrape against the long steel blade that was gripped in her tightly clenched hand.
“You wouldn’t stop crying.” She whispered, “If only you had stopped crying”