  I witnessed two girls hit by a truck this afternoon. nbsp;  There is a park half a block down from my house. nbsp;  The red light had stopped me. nbsp;
 My car humming,  waiting for the green. nbsp;  I looked to my right and saw two girls,  one around fifteen and the other eight. nbsp;
 A gray book bag hung off the older girl’ s shoulder. nbsp;  There was a light breeze,  the world mute.  I look away.
nbsp;  A flash of red streaked past. nbsp;  I turn back. nbsp;  She looked like rag doll,
 a bump,  under the tires. nbsp;  I thought it was a stunt. nbsp;  A joke.
nbsp;  But she didn’ t move,  then the other girl appeared from the left. nbsp;  The truck stopped and reality crashed.
nbsp;  Across the street a black truck stopped. nbsp;  A man rushed out. nbsp;  He ran to the older girl telling her not to move.
nbsp;  An old man came out of the driver side of the red truck. nbsp;  The small girl cried,  barely moving on the pavement. nbsp;
 To ease the guilty he tried to get her to stand. nbsp;  Her little legs collapsing under the shock. nbsp;  The other man screamed at him,  “
Get away from her. nbsp;  His cell phone on his ear,  his hand trying to calm the older girl,  now crying. nbsp;
 I stare at the two kids moaning on the floor. nbsp;  People honking. nbsp;  Traffic has been stilled and heaven forbid if the routine is interrupted. nbsp;
 Three more cars stop in the middle of the road. nbsp;  They create a makeshift roadblock.  I turn the corner,  watching in the rear view mirror-  fire truck lights.
 Order to the chaos. nbsp;  Cleaners of the mess,  serving their purpose.  & nbsp;
Lives are split,  molded,  reformed into before and after,  for everyone involved.
