(Lunchtime Fiction.)

He chewed on his sunflower seeds, spitting the shells into the cup. His fisted hand clamped the steering wheel so tight as he sat watching the children play. It didn't need to happen this way, but they made it happen. His child died, after all, so why shouldn't they also know the burning pain that seers through your heart every moment of every day. His son would never get to play football with his buddies, go fishing with his family, flirt with girls in his teenage years. If his son would never experience life, theirs shouldn't either. Their child was the reason it all happened, anyway.

Mr. Danton grabbed the dinosaur piñata out of the back seat and walked up to the yard.

"Hi, Uncle Tim!" squealed the birthday boy, who'd obviously had several doses too many of sugar.
Little Jake gave him a hug and he returned with a smile and a "Happy Birthday!"
"Is that my piñata?!"
"Don't touch it - I'll hang it over the tree branch."

Was he going to miss the hugs from this sweet little boy? Sure. But he missed his sons hugs more.

"Thanks, Tim," said his brother, Brody. "Let me help you tie it - "
"No, I got it. You take care of those burgers on the grill."

His anger was in a fist of rage clamped around his heart as he hung the dinosaur to the tree.
It shouldn't hurt anyone else. He'd make sure it'd be the birthday boy who swung the bat first.