The child squat, on side road. It was unclear whether the child was hungry, or in pain, or surprisingly, sleeping. The child’s dress was torn and filthy, but still intact. He was surrounded by lines and piles of trashes, from rotten french fries to worn condom, from used tissue to pukes.
The man in coat walked through the road. It was between abandoned apartments and train rail. There was no one except the man and the child, though his left hand was in his pocket. He walked slowly; his head headed forward, but his eyes glanced in secret to the child. He even had a thought that the child was dead already.
He looked around. No one else was there. There was no sound whatsoever. Everything seemed save.
His eyes now looked straight to the child. Now he could see that the child was still breathing; it was most likely that the child was sleeping. From the size of the body, the child was at least ten years old. The apartments was broken because of the war, and it seemed that the building was too broken to be inhabited, so he concluded the the child didn’t live in the apartments. What surprised him was the absence of the parents, or any adult around the place. Chances were, the child shouldn’t be left alone below hot sunlight, in any circumstance.
He realized that he stopped walking. He then shouted to the child, “HEY, KID!!!”
The kid raised his head; he obviously was sleeping.
“Are you alone?” said the man.
“Yes…” answered the kid, firm, but weak.
“Would you like to come with me?” asked the man.
“Where to?” said the kid.
“You’ll see.” said the man. “But eventually, you’ll have a house to stay.”
Without question, the child rose.