"I brought children into this dark world because it needed the light that only a child can bring." - Liz Armbruster
Requiem For Innocence
He cradles the child in his hands, a frail bundle of innocence, of fragile life in a broken world.
The baby is small, barely filling up his hands, but there's a strong spirit of life in the dark eyes that look into his.
It's been so long since he's stood beside another human being without fear, so long since he's looked someone in the face and not held his breath.
For an instant he wonders if the newborn can look into his soul, can see the agony, the blind terror lurking there, can feel the hope and sanity hanging by a frayed thread.
He ponders if something so tiny can survive such great odds in the middle of nowhere, whether somehow there's a hope left for him, some shelter down an unseen road.
It's been so long since he's held a living child, since he's been a doctor and helped a life enter the world.
He would have held his own son this way, safe and secure, protected from harm.
He feels himself tremble, feels the tears threaten to spill from eyes so long dry and empty.
The baby looks up at him, mouth forming a soft "O", the little lips pursing into an almost smile.
He smiles back through the mist in his eyes.
He touches the tiny hands almost reverently, strokes the soft skin with the most gentle of touches.
The baby wriggles contentedly in his arms, nestling against the steady beat of his heart.
For a fraction of time Richard Kimble feels love.