When the children played with knives

When it was asked to the parents why they let their children sit play in the sharp hollows of the ten feet tall statue of Lady Prudence the parents looked lost like children often do when they do not understand the unreasonable adult rules.

They are our flesh and blood but we do not particularly like them. We do not have the means to spoil them hardly the means to feed them. We are poor we own but little and certainly not virtues. I did not plan on having them. Neither did he. It just happened. They just happened. 

It was not discernible, the response the parents had given. It was assumed that the two thirty five year old adults had no capacity for reason given their lack of formal education. Their gibberish response was dissected by being put in the proper context of understanding – extensive trauma suffered from living years on the street and the past eighty seven nights in the city square mall.

Then after two prime time specials it was again asked of the parents why they let their children play in the sharp hollows of the ten feet tall statue of Lady Prudence, did they not love them? The parents looked exasperated.

Love. What is this strange word? 

But of course you know what the word love means. All parents love their children. Kids are breathing parts outside their bodies – part of one, half of another. Children are nature’s way of telling you have a purpose and what man may live without loving his purpose?

Our purpose never was the achievement of an approved-by-all ideal five years down the line. Our purpose was not to be discovered in the mall in the night by the guards. We slept where we could, they played where they could. They were grown up enough to answer nature’s calls. They could take care of themselves. They knew black from white. Now we can never go back. Now our purpose has changed. 

The city never understood the purpose the parents spoke about. They were poor, extremely poor but poverty could not obliterate the idea of love or care. Poverty could not loosen the hold of the selfish gene. So it was asked again of the parents why they let their children sit play in the sharp hollows of the ten feet tall statue of Lady Prudence, did they not know that they could die?

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The mother said nothing and looked down. The father held her hand and looked away.

The city silently rejoiced. The children did matter. They did matter. They did matter.

You found them in the hands of the Lady, one in each, blood flowing along her legs. In the morning when the mall doors were opened the city was greeted to the sight of two ten year old children in the hands of the Lady, the Lady herself was standing in a pool of blood. Just because they are in her hands, just because there was blood, you think they are dead? 

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Author: pecsbowen

reader.philosopher.writer

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