Updated: Mar 14, 2019
I was cycling back home when I heard someone sobbing in the woods. Following the sound, I discovered a boy sitting under a tree, staring into the forest with a bleeding head. I ran towards him and asked what had happened. He didn't say a word. I turned to see where he'd been looking and saw a car crashed into a tree. I walked to the wreckage and found a woman quivering in pain, who I assumed must be his mother. I tried pulling her out of the car seat but the dashboard had crushed her violently, disabling any chance of movement. I struggled for an hour, and so did she. At last, I had no choice. I went to the little kid and told him that it was going to be okay. I am going to take care of his mom and take her with me. He didn't say a word. I held his hand and told him I was sorry. He didn't say a word. As I walked away from him, I felt a tug at my shirt. It was the boy asking me to take him along. Now I could not have done that, but the boy was looking at me with hopeful eyes. So I decided to wait with him. We both sat in the woods and talked about baseball, the cute girl in his class, and how much he loved pizza. I took out a diary from my pocket and showed him his photos from his life. When I showed him the photo of the time he had almost drowned in the swimming pool, he realized why my face seemed familiar. His face was filled with terror now, and I didn't know how to comfort him. So I asked him if he would like to listen to a poem, and after much thought, he said yes. I leaned towards his ear and told him my poem. If black be the color of poetry and white be the rhyme, I shall whisper a gray poem; just so you know — it is time. He then closed his eyes. I gently picked him and his mother up. It was time to cycle back home now.
- Rohan Kevin Broach