The Child

The wind carries a pitiful scream with it, making me quicken my step. Caleb pushes people from blocking our way, there’s an elderly woman who almost falls due to the impact. Just as I’m about to ask Caleb to be more gentle with the shoving, I halt myself. This is not the time for pleasantries.

There. The boy lies on the ground with a freshly hit red mark on his small arm. The sight ignites anger within me. I turn to look at the man who did this. Isis, lend me strength and tranquility to deal with this… person. Anger makes one blind and reckless. It eats you from the inside, starting from the stomach and continuing into your brain, corroding everything in its path. Thankfully, the burning sensation subsides and my mind clears.

“Let the boy go,” I say. My voice rings lower in my ears than usual. I look him in the eyes. I know he will obey. He, however, doesn’t seem to think that. Who is this foreign woman to tell me what to do, he thinks. It’s written all over his face: it’s his right to discipline his property.

Finally the realization over his dire situation quickly wipes the familiar pride off his face. All too quickly he frees the child, as he well should. He knows what will happen if he doesn’t obey.

The child is now safe. He hugs my thigh with such ferocity that it almost hurts. But it’s the good kind of hurt. The type of hurt I would gladly hold closely in my heart if it meant that the child would be safe. I would bear the pain readily, content with the knowledge that the pain is not his to endure.

The most unfortunate children are helpless, hoping not to attract the attention of the bad ones. They don’t get to act like children should, they don’t receive the love they need. I can’t save them all. Even as his innocent eyes look at me with such gratitude, there’s the feeling of not doing enough. It gnaws my insides, corrodes the pit of my stomach.

I bend down to whisper into his ear that I will save his mother, too. He won’t be alone in this world.

However, I need to hurry. The man is in need of punishing someone because his authority was undermined.

But, before I can leave, my mind wakes up to a realization that we’re not alone: A young soldier’s eyes scrutinize me.

You. You’re not from here. Not many townspeople would dare to stare at me like you do. You wonder why I did what I did.  You’ve seen how cruel the world can be.

But there’s something else in your gaze. Something that I’ve seen many, many times before. It almost makes me want to run from you. You’re dangerous. I can see it clearly and there’s enough sense in me to fear it.

But what’s beneath that gaze is what makes me stay in place.

You’ve been hurt. Many times.

Do you… need help?