6:35 PM, Times Square, I saw her face pressed against the window glass.  She was dancing on the rain, her arms out wide, her palms a testament to the sky.

She danced in the moonlight,
Stars in her eyes,
That moment in time, lost in a second,
But captured forever in my mind.

Lucy was her name, she told me that night, as we laid in the bed, our bodies still raging over sexual delight.

A magic moment, lost to time, captured forever in my mind,
To be savored, treasured, for all times.

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July 14th, 1992, I hear the news, a friend of a friend tells a friend of a friend, Lucy, my Lucy, was walking home one night, crystal clear moon filled night.

She had been singing, some song, she randomly generated inside her mind, happily, merrily, a tune she hummed a million times, song filled with joy, life, the shot rang out, struck in the lower abdomen, her blood ran like a river through the streets.

The killer, a young man, a boy really, James Waters, 18.

Drug deal gone bad.

The bullet meant for another, killed the lovely dream, my sweet Lucy.

A boy, a mother’s pride and joy, lost his life too that fateful day, 20 years to life, his life cut short in the prison yard, a knife between the ribs, his blood too ran like a horrid river across the ground, life lost, no memorial, no service, his mother’s tears his only song.

I wept when I heard of Lucy’s death, I collapsed onto the couch, the weight of the sorrow crashing down over me, pulling me into a horrible pain across my chest.

Death?

No simple escape for me.

How I wept, my tears become a river, or the very least a puddle on the floor.

And in the distance, I heard her song, drifting on the breeze…

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