I was suddenly transported, wondering where the thought had come from, why it had just now come into my mind.
The Lost Gloves of Seething are all at once sad and amusing but there was nothing amusing here, no wreaks and nobody drowning, in fact nothing to laugh at at all. There it goes again, my mind inappropriately lightening the mood.
But this was real, all too real. I shook my head to clear the thought and leapt back to reality. I tore my gaze away from that tiny child’s shoe with its slow trickle of blood, stark red against the blue plastic.
And through the smoke and the rubble, the noise and charred crumpled bodies I ran to be of whatever little help I might be.
By Roger Hayes
(originally from Seething Writers writing prompt: Ready, Steady Write)