He sat on the rug and doodled a house
Using his brand new crayons.
Red for the roof, blue for the walls, green for the door.
He drew his mommy and his daddy and a smiling sun.
No one heard the door’s handle click open.
He never heard the screams, because when they began
He was already down, hugging the ground
Still holding his crayons.
Still smiling.
His parents would never see that smile
When in a week, he would have opened his red firetruck for Christmas.
It would remain in a box
In his parents' closet,
Never to be opened.