All the tired stay at home mothers regretting their decisions to not use birth control. Each one in dark thick framed sunglasses, wide brimmed hats or baseball caps. Empty coffee cups overflowed the communal trash cans. The mothers gossiping to each other about one another. “Well I heard…”. “They are going though a divorce…”. “She just got her breast done and now she’s getting married…”. This was a normal summer here. New moms would pop up and occasionally a dad here and there, but it was always the same. The children knew by heart the exact location of the womb they had exited. Young moms would sit near the picnic area and nurse babies and talk about all natural baby remedies. Middle aged moms would crowd around the benches in group of four. The paid mothers or nannies would stand watching their false children with the eyes of a hawk. Everything was normal, laughing kids, cackling mother, grasshoppers singing. Until one child screamed.

Kids screaming is not uncommon. But this scream. Was not what a mother wanted to hear. It was full of fear. The mother’s all rushed over. Whose child was hurt? Whose child needed a hug, and bandaid? Or a juice box?

A small child was covered in crimson. Beside the small scared girl, was a body. Missing a head. Blood pooling in the wood chips that covered the playground.