A child screaming, running no one knows where to, not even the child, just away, far away, to safety, a woman lying on the ground, eyes glazed over, pale faced, lifeless body, two bullet shells lying adjacent of a child’s mother who had been stolen, stolen like a pack of gum from an unknowing gas station cashier, right out of an innocent life, a man with a gun running through a crowd of gasping men, women, and children trying to lose the distant wail of sirens speeding across the town in blurs of red, blue and white no matter what color car, all too late for the cause of the call made by a man knelt beside a woman and  two gunshot shells on the ground in pools of blood screaming for help, but knowing that it was too late; men in bulletproof jackets swarmed the market center, people parting for paramedics to lift the bloody lifeless body of a mother of a child, running far, far away, to safety from a man with a gun running from sirens.