I can’t save the world.

By R.M. Hamilton, Out Of School

“He was hanging,” she whispers, “still warm, too late.”
I’m only the trainee florist. I just listen.
“Euthanasia is about dignity,” pleads the small, grey-haired man clutching a fistful of pamphlets.
I’m a kiwi in Australia.
I can’t vote. But he needs to talk.
I let him.
“My English is no good,” sighs the immigrant.
I’m only a volunteer, not a real teacher. I pull up google translate. Somehow, in mangled grammar, we listen to each other.
I wish I was a superhero.
I’m not.
I wish I could save the world.
I can’t.
But I can listen.