I was there when my best friend died. I couldn’t stop it. After, the world kept on turning. Trees blossomed. Birds sang. Trains rattled along their lines. But all that – trees, birds, trains – wasn’t my world. From that day, all I ever heard was the gurgling. All I ever smelt was the wincing air in that park that he could no longer breathe. And the stain on my shirt…

From the Commonword Blogs 02/10/2010 – 07:54 — Pete Kalu