Don't kill me, guys. I know I should be working on Death's Embrace and all those other things you're demanding of me, but I really can't help it. Plot bunnies are evil, I'm telling you.
I wish I could have started this sooner.
See, I wanted to time it so that if I update once a day, then I could post the Christmas Day one on Christmas Day, but alas, before I knew it, December 19 had passed and my timing was totally off.
Oh well. Here you go.
The Starving
He crouches in the shadows, waiting, watching.
He expects to see a truck coming down the dirt road — a parade of trucks, maybe, all piled high with food. Where are they? He had heard they would come. But they are not here.
For lack of anything else to eat, he picks up a stick and begins to gnaw on the end, hoping that the mere movement of his jaw will somehow trick his stomach into feeling full. His eyes are hollow and glint brightly in the clear African moonlight. His limbs are little more than bones and a thin, dark layer of dirt-covered skin.
It makes me sick to see him crouching there, lingering on the outskirts of the village too poor to feed their children.
But, as much as I wish, I have nothing to give him. Innocence, light, courage, wonder, memories, fun — what are they to a boy like this?
Only dreams and hope remain.
Dreams of food and water, clean food and water, and all that he could ever want.
Hope of living another day.
I can do nothing more than hope with him, and make sure that my moonbeam shines as bright as it can in this dark world.