They carry themselves with a maturity far beyond their years, but there is no denying the fact they are mere children. Dressed in the uniforms of their schools, church and scout troops, some as young as eight or nine, they sport the fresh, rosy-cheeked and often pimple-covered faces of the young and innocent.

They shouldn't be here, lined up along a sidewalk under a sweltering July sun. They should be out doing what kids do on Canada Day weekend, waterskiing at the lake, swimming at the local pool or enjoying a picnic with their families.

But come out they do, joined by hundreds of other kids dressed in their naive interpretations of mourning clothes -- black Keds sneakers, black fishnet stockings, dark navy mini-dresses and ill-fitting suits.

Their reason for being here, too, is the kind of thing no kid should have to deal with. They've come to say goodbye to one of their own, a bright-eyed, darkly handsome 15-year-old boy by the name of Paul Pawlicki.

Last Tuesday, Paul was, as the old saw goes, in the wrong place at the wrong time. After dance practice, the boy who loved to salsa joined his friends and climbed into the back of their car with his dance partner, Lauren Yates. While sitting at a red light at a downtown intersection, their car was rear-ended at high speed. The driver of the car that hit them fled, leaving Paul dead and Lauren in critical condition.

Sunday, Calgary police released the name of a person wanted in connection with the crime: Neil James Sharp, a 33-year-old man of no fixed address who sports a tattoo of a skull on his right upper arm.

Police believe the crash occurred after a drug deal ended badly.

The description of the suspect and his alleged circumstances couldn't be in starker contrast to the victim of this horrific and senseless crime.

At each of the three entrances to Our Lady Queen of Peace Catholic Church in the city's northwest, framed photos show a cheerful young man in a variety of poses, playing his guitar, proudly wearing his scout uniform and resting on a rock in the mountains.

Nearly every one of the more than 700 mourners packing the church, and overflowing onto the grounds and parking lot outside, stops to sign the guestbook and linger over the photographs of the former altar boy with an obvious passion for all that life has to offer.

In times like these, it seems there are no words to describe the grief or to comfort those in their darkest hour.

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