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He was running.
He may have been the Papa.
Maybe she was maybe two, dressed in fuchsia.
Her body lifeless.
He was running.
His arms full.
She was a rag doll.
Beth could see him in the rear view mirror.
He would pass us soon as we sat in traffic.
We pulled over on the side of the road to offer help.
As he got closer we could see he kept looking for signs of life.
He turned, running in the opposite direction before he got to us.
We could say nothing, offer nothing.
Where was he going, there was no hospital that way?
Just like that, in your mind, no way to process what was happening.
Gone from our sight, not from our minds.
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