Beautiful Tragedy

A child. Barely out of diapers. He stands stock still on the busy sidewalk as hundreds of grown-ups walk quickly past him.

The child stoops, plucking a key from a crack in the sidewalk, even though the crack isn't nearly large enough to accommodate such an object. He holds it up before his eyes, a wicked glint in his eyes. The key itself is onyx-black and jagged, like something conjured from a nightmare and carved from obsidian.

He steps off the sidewalk, directly into busy traffic. Somehow, he manages not to be struck by a racing vehicle. His tiny legs carry him to the center of the roadway. There are no angry horns, no shouts of fear or anger directed at him, no acknowledgement of this child standing where no child should be. He may as well not exist.

With a giggle like broken glass, he stoops once more, shoving the key into the asphalt of the street. The road boils around him as he vanishes in a puff of smoke, leaving behind him a ten-car pileup. The sound of his laughter lingers as the screams begin.