There's a bedroom, a lamp that tints the small room rose, and dust that permeates the stale air.
There's a doctor and a flower vendor.
They can't forget.
Even when he's on top of them, gangly hands grasping their tiny wrists and whispering his adoration for them, they cannot forget.
Their heart races.
Their gums ache.
He can't forget.
He smothers them in his affection, trying to convince them that his feelings have changed, really, they have.
'I love you.'
Yet he can still see that child, strapped down, crying, bleeding.
The doctor sniffles pitifully.
'I'm so sorry.'