By Hugh Cartwright
So many deaths.
With blue lights flashing, we race downtown. She’s easy to find, lying motionless on the frozen pavement. “Just sixteen,” someone says. Her glazed eyes stare into mine, but I know that they see nothing; the antidote in our bags cannot save her.
I hold her hand, and suddenly my mind is filled with futures destroyed. She might have been a musician, an athlete, or found joy in simply being alive. She might have been a wife, mother, and grandmother, for God’s sake.
But all possibilities died tonight. Her future has collapsed to a single data point: another statistic.
Powerful.
Sadly very timely. Poignant and empathetic. I enjoyed this. It really moved me.
Thank you Pat. It is indeed depressing that writing about such a topic could be described as timely.
Such a sad commentary about life lost too young.
An emotional story very well told.
Thank you for your comment. I find it harder to write about serious topics than about more light-hearted ones, so it is good to know that this piece worked for you.