Gone.

               She picks the baby up out of her crib. The baby gazes at her mother’s face. A face of calm reassurance. She smiles as the baby, dressing her in one of of her play outfits. The mother plaecs the baby on her hip and walks into the the kitchen. She pulls out the baby’s high-chair. Sitting the baby in the chair, she snaps the plastic holder into place. The baby watches all of this, cooing and happy. The mother turns and burrows through the cabinet for a jar of baby-food. Popping open the jar, she reaches for a plastic spoon out of the silverware drawer. The baby is tracing the patterns on her high-chair with one small pink finger. This is the picture of perfection.

              The doorbell rings, and the mother sets the baby-food down on the counter. She walks into the next room to answer the door. The baby hears the lock on the door rattle, signifying the opening of the door. She sees her mother open the door. There’s a loud BANG! that the baby doesn’t understand. Mommy’s on the floor; not moving, not smiling. There’s a pool of red, sticky stuff around Mommy’s head that’s begun to stain the carpet. The baby wishes Mommy would get up. When she doesn’t the baby cries, and cries, and cries. But no one ever comes for her…