It was 2022-the skies were clear.  

I led the children where we held most dear:  

Hilltop, where Saturdays were gold with sun,  

And laughter rose with every sprint and run.  

I left without a word to home or gate,  

Just joy in hand, and kids who couldn’t wait.

She begged to come-sweet Favour, full of light.  

Her sister warned, but tears outshone the fight.  

I let her join. That choice became my brand,  

The moment joy first slipped through trembling hands.

The match was bright, a clash of gleeful cries,  

Until the ball rolled past where stillness lies.  

She chased it down the slope, where silence grows,  

Where wires hide in weeds that no one knows.  

A hiss-a flash-then sudden, shattered screams,  

Her body caught in electricity’s seam.

I tore her back. Her skin was still and pale,  

A sparkless star, gone cold beyond the veil.  

I breathed and pressed, and water soaked her skin—  

But all my will could not pull her back in.

 We found a ride. Her mother took her head.  

The second stop confirmed the girl was dead.  

That night I lay on tile and spoke no word.  

Grief has no name when guilt is all that’s heard.

They cursed me loud, said witches bore my name.  

They called my care a veil for hidden shame.  

Her sister vanished, love dissolved in flame

And I, a ghost, now wore the weight of blame.

I meant them joy, not sorrow, not this fall.  

But sometimes good becomes the worst of all.  

I see that field when silence wraps the light

And know too well, even good births the night.