Her desolate eyes looked at the birds outside the window, telling them a million stories. These little gray marbles still wore the shine that wasn’t lost to years of neglect.
She was sitting on a small stool that barely contained her but I guess it was still better than lying in rubble.
Sounds of my weak footsteps disturbed her silent conversation and she turned to look at the door of the room where I was standing, numb.
I tried to pass a frail smile but that was just as useless as the kid’s wall art trying to disguise the misery of the wall of that room.
They had bathed her but you couldn’t just wash layer of loneliness and misfortune that burdened her young soul.
She was the picture of isolation in gray scale.
Her statuesque bod didn’t budge.
Her mystifying eyes were scanning me suspiciously but there was no trace of fear in them.
My feet directed me towards her despite numerous unsuccessful attempts to warn me against it by my foggy brain.
As I got closer the tubes nourishing her became visible.
I kept moving towards her until my feet touched the leg of her stool and I descended on my knees right in front of her without breaking the gaze.
Finally my weary eyes managed to ask hers through the silence,
Where’s my little girl??
Have they kept her just the way they have kept you??
Is she wearing a neat white sundress just like you?
What about the yellow a-line dressed that I stitched for her?
It was dreadfully Soiled when I saw her the last time, when they cradled her to the ambulance.
One tear somehow managed to escape and ran down my cheek that I wiped with the sleeve of my orange jumpsuit.
The entrance of the hospital’s ward had “feral children under 10” engraved on it.
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