Precious Words For Sullen Travelers

In New York City, a young boy crouched over a dusted side walk, coated in blues and yellows, chalk blotting his dimpled hands. The features of his calk-drawing come into focus, the "Rose Pink" chalk covering the cheeks like blush, the pale sidewalk creating highlights in the blonde-yellow hair. The young girl's delicate cheekbones and eyes resembled those of the girls he once thought he loved, but these specific lips and eyelashes were hers; they were his Annabelle's.

He finished his drowning and then hid in the alcove of the ice-cream parlor that shut down two months earlier. He waited.

New York City foot traffic turned busy in the following minute and he watched as busy business men and women walked over the chalk-drawing of his Annabelle. her feature's were smudged and her image was essentially destroyed.

It wasn't until the last flow of the rush was running late to work, when one woman noticed the ruined image of the young girl beneath her trampling feet. "Oh dear," she whispered. And yet, she spent only a few moments awarding the blurred beauty beneath her feet before continuing on her way.

Life, the boy decided, is much the same. Annabelle's innocence, like her beauty, was used and hurt with no one taking notice until it was too late. Even then, the only thing that could be offered was a moment of silence in the gymnasium of 57 kindergardeners and a pervert that was never convicted.

The boy packed up his chalk and made his way back home, deciding that Annabelle's smile is better preserved and deserved in his memory.