Thursday, 12 October 2017

The Street Urchin

Found this piece in an old journal which I have been shredding. Saved this one during the final annihilation. 

The Street Urchin

There was a little bright red flower growing by the embankment on the side of the road. Its petals quivered gently in the dusty wind. Its stalk bent delicately yet it held on there. Giving a pop of cheerful colour to everyone passing by.


The huge wheels of a trailer went over the embankment throwing up bits of kerb and crushing the green green grass…turning it all to mush. Killing a biker. Raising up dust. And when the trailer’s wheels passed, the flower still stood. 

It was a little flower of no particular consequence, no great pedigree. But it survived. Tall. Proud. Alive.

It danced in the wind. 


Offering beauty to pedestrians, passers-by and paramedics. A requiem for dead bikers. 

The idea that one could survive all odds, except one. 

The dust cleared. The wind stuttered.

The flower shivered.

Nothing moved for a bit. 

Then a small little hand with grubby fingernails reached out and plucked the flower. Tucked it behind a little ear. Bleeding knees. Dirty toes. Runny nose. Smiling face. 

Beautiful red flower.

The Angel of Death. 

Sometimes he is a sleepy trucker. Sometimes he is the winds that blow. And sometimes...

He is a 5 year old street urchin.

Anne V

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