It wasn’t that or that, but finally this that broke him into little pieces of confetti blowing in the wind like on a wedding day when tossed in joy amid good wishes of the crowd.
But while they cheered, he landed hard on concrete walks and tried to scurry with the wind while they walked about and ended stuck to the bottoms of their shoes instead.
Until thinned by endless drumming against the earth he sought to live upon, he wore away to nothingness and no one ever noticed except one housewife in New Albany. She came in from the rain one day and wondered at pink streaks that wet and shiny marked for a while her kitchen floor.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology