Clarence Briggs stood at the edge of his lawn, staring at what used to be a tidy flower bed. Tulip stems were crushed, soil kicked up, petals torn like confetti in the grass. Tire tracks sliced right through the middle, careless and clean. His chest tightened as cold air filled his lungs.
It wasn’t just a flower bed. His late wife, Helen, had planted those tulips fifteen years ago. Every spring, he’d cared for them like they were glass. But this morning, they were ruined—flattened by someone too lazy to take a proper detour.
Clarence didn’t shout. He didn’t wave his fist. He just stood there, broom in hand, heart sinking. It wasn’t just the damage. It was the helplessness. The erosion of peace, bit by bit. And as the wind rustled the broken stems, Clarence knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t going to happen again.