The rose hung there, as the drops of rain slipped down its petals.

It had a splatter of rain drops all around its dark red gentle petals.

It was hanging in the hands of a small child, as he watched the casket slowly lower to the ground.

The boy was only five years old... yet he had seen, so very much.

He had seen the man he called dad stab the woman he called mum, again and again.

He just looked at her coffin as she entered the deep of the earth. He slowly wiped the tears from his eyes and trembled there when a hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Are you ready to go home, Billy?"

He was so scared... he was so terrified.

No one knew how she died, no one.

"Y-yes, Dad," He said in a weak whimper, "Okay..."

"Say goodbye to Mummy," The man told his son and the little boy dropped the rose into the newly dug hole.

"B-bye, Mummy" he whispered. He was led away from her grave and he closed his eyes as he said to himself, "Please take me away too."