Innocence Lost

The street is alive with the sounds of a child and his dog at play. The two are lost in a world of barking, nipping and fast escaping feet, although I’m unsure who runs from who. They scamper with a careless abandon I envy oblivious to the twitching curtains and revved antagonisms of cars. Innocence I think to myself. I even smile. If the youngster wasn’t wearing camouflage and had a plastic beretta strapped to his hip by his father’s belt, I should’ve said it perfect. I should of, but I can’t.
The child has to move for the man rushing to work, his old Volvo spewing black something-or-other into the air. I don’t think he even sees the dog. And there it is, the moment I’ve dreaded, the child removes his gun and pretends to shoot the driver down: innocence lost.

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