The creak of metal chains in their pivot squealed as the empty swing swayed in the breeze. It took a beat for the screaming to start. I understood, it took me a minute to find my voice, too. Blood poured from the head of the limp child. She lay on the ground, crimson staining the hopscotch chalk she had just jumped through.

One by one, crows had begun to land near the playground. On the equipmen...