MVO: The boy gasps as he comes crashing down to earth.
Teeth rattling, he cries out to a familiar figure.
But mother's tender words do little as he lies in this splendid wreck. He vies to scrape away the rubble that darkens his wound, and his day, but his hands shake without command.
Even his shoes have given up the ghost. Laces stare back, crossed in refusal to assist.
Suddenly, from mother's pocket emerges a short white stick, crowned with a marble-like head, and smelling of the world's sweetest strawberry. Invigorated, and armed with taste buds tingling, he rises on bended knee.
And before his tears could even start air drying themselves, he'd forgotten what all the fuss was about.
Tide's efficient cleaning. Like it never happened.