No fiction written beats real life. I know because my mind churns all the time. Stories swirl and twirl in my brain often distracting me from mundane chores and absolute necessities. The other day I had to deal with one such chore, an ongoing, now chronic situation with the brakes on my car. Since May I've spent more money than I care to think about on righting the wrongs done to my disks, linings, rotors and pads. Last Friday on yet another visit to my car dealership I passed the time waiting in the customer lounge reading the newspaper. Their television was on with a newscast station reporting late breaking grim news.
I looked up from the political headlines to see the face of a sweet child about two or three years old. Her mother charged with her disappearance and possible death was now, out of jail on a generous bail. As she was being led into a car for the drive to momentary freedom, DNA samples were being taken to a crime lab in another part of the city. These samples came from the trunk of this woman's car, the place where authorities believe this little girl was stowed for an undisclosed time. An expert in forensics was being interviewed on his opinion of how the child was killed. Traces of chloroform along with decomposition were found through tests in the trunk and this doctor seemed confident that someone had given the child a form of a drug that would put the child to sleep so the parent could go out without paying a babysitter. Perhaps not meaning to, but without using any common sense this woman had killed her own child to save a few dollars an hour.
Killers come in all sizes and all descriptions and so do victims.
Blog what you see, hear, think and feel.