And stand with hands bound with the cutting ropes of savage red tape. Their wrists bearing the deep wounds of serious struggle against this implicit travesty. They can hear the young one cry . . . I can't do it alone . . . I am sinking . . .
Mother knows the odds are diminishing rapidly.
Time drags by as the darkness descends, just as it seemed that light was to prevail. But the undertone of worry, confusion, and despair is not lost on the young son's ears. He is not heartened and cannot persist in the struggle. Life is so much harder than he envisioned. The recent memory of elation has turned to a dirge.