They do. [Of course, tragic (or comedic, and isn't it all the same formula, really, with different flares?) timing does play a part here. The mother once again calls out to Mamoru, waves her hand while holding his father's, and the child turns, only to watch an already unsteady BMW swerve out of the road, climb over the sidewalk and scythe through his parents.
He really can see it, though, in his mind. The eyebrows over the rim of his sunglasses slant lightly. The memory is still very vivid, detailed. Glass, the awkward and shocked silence of the people who survived — everyone. Everyone else but his parents.
The door opens, and a man drunk out of his mind stumbles out, crawling on the floor. Pitiful, and that's when Mamoru's lip twitches. ] It's as you see.
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He really can see it, though, in his mind. The eyebrows over the rim of his sunglasses slant lightly. The memory is still very vivid, detailed. Glass, the awkward and shocked silence of the people who survived — everyone. Everyone else but his parents.
The door opens, and a man drunk out of his mind stumbles out, crawling on the floor. Pitiful, and that's when Mamoru's lip twitches. ] It's as you see.