They stumbled through the dark, blinded by their tears. A small woman with a tall man linked together by a child. A child in which they could not take care of anymore. A small child who based on appearances one would think he was three maybe four years of age. But in the truth of life, he had been on earth for seven years.

The boy was born with a growth disability, which the doctor had said it would stunt his mental and physical development. And the night before his eighth birthday he tried to grab a cup off the counter and fell, busting his head open. His parents love him dearly and had to make a decision no parent should have to make, the decision over his life. The mother cried and cried as they decided the world was not safe for him.

So that is why they are in the damp subway tunnel on this hollow night. To bury their treasure, their love, their life. The blood covered boy was barely conscious enough to know they were walking, but when they stopped the boy could see a tear on his mothers cheek. His father dug a hole while he sat in his mothers arms still unaware of his fate.

“It’s time my love.” His father spoke, helping his wife up off the ground.

She stood up taking her son’s hands in hers. She closed her eyes and squeezed his hands as her husband struck their son from behind, knocking him over and killing him. The wife covered her mouth in an attempt not to scream, an ocean of tears flood her face.

The boy’s father carefully picked him up and laid him in the whole. He wrapped the boy up safe and sound, then started to lay down a heavy blanket of dirt. Once the hole was no longer noticeable the man and woman left considering themselves no longer parents.