The following story is that of a young woman who I was fortunate enough to meet on one of my many vacations to the beautiful country of France. Through her journal—her most sacred possession—and several extensive interviews, I have compiled her many experiences into onecomplete volume.

It is hard for me to express my feelings toward this young woman—who, by the time I was lucky enough to spend time with her was an aged woman—but I can assure you she has started an intense fire inside me. She has been through more than I can ever imagine. My only hope is that when you, the reader, reads her tale, learns, above all else…compassion.

1

Aboard the Destiny

'A little girl stands a few feet from where I sit aboard the deck of the steamship Destiny. She is perhaps five or six, with curly blonde hair and dark green eyes. Her features are petite—her nose is like a button, her lips like two pieces of pink yarn stretched across the lower portion of her small face. She stares at me while I write about her in my journal.

She does not know that I write about her.

I lift my head up every now and then, acting as if I am gazing out at the night sky, while secretly stealing glimpses of the frozen girl.

Little children have always fascinated me. They are full of curiosity; they are always asking questions, which seem ridiculous to us but perfectly reasonable to them. They are not afraid to ask embarrassing questions, yet they are afraid of the dark, and of monsters that do not exist.

The young girl does not stare at me with fear in her eyes, but with interest.

Her older sister stands next to her, chatting with a young boy. She is perhaps fifteen or sixteen. Her pale locks reflect the soft moonlight that shines upon her and aluminates her features. She blushes as the boy whispers something inaudible into her ear.

They take no heed of me. To the other passengers I am but a shadow hidden among other shadows. My presence is easily and gladly overlooked as I spend my time aboard the Destiny scribbling furiously inthis journal.

The stars are shining bright tonight. Countless sparkling faeries dance against the black night sky. The little girl follows my gaze as I look out over the channel.

I close my eyes. I can hear the laughter of the girl's older sister and her male friend. The sounds drift into my head as I soak in my surroundings, relying only on my ears to paint the picture of my environment in my mind.

The sound of the gentle waves lapping against the hull of the ship eases my heightened senses. The rhythmic noise drowns out all others. Soon, however, other, less noticeable sounds find their way to my open ears. Tiny particles of rock and dirt scrape across the wooden deck as the ship rocks slowly in the sea. A faint whistling is heard as the wind flows through a small hole in the metal wall to my right. The flap of wings comes to pass as a seagull lands overhead onto the deck's overhang.

And the laughter of the boy and girl cease.

When I open my eyes, the boy is gone. Now all that remains is the little girl, still staring at me with a questioning look, while her sister takes hold of her miniature hand and follows her line of sight.

"Who is that, Ann?" asks the little girl.

"I do not know," comes the reply.

Through the duration of this event, I have been good about keeping my profile as the only thing that the little girl sees. But I am tired...tired of people staring at me and walking silently away from me when I turn to look at them...'

So I placed my pen in the pages of my journal and closed the cover. It was the first time I had moved for some time—as I turned to face the girls—and my face contorted as my muscles awoke.

But I turned nevertheless. I was tired. I wanted to get this over with so I could retire to my cabin and get some well-deserved rest before we reached the French shore. I swung my legs over the side of the chaise lounge and rested my hands on my knees. I heard a gasp as I leaned out from the shadows previously hiding my face.

The startled noise came from the older girl…who was not curious, but appalled. I shook my head. It seemed the older people got, the less humane they became.

The young girl took a step forward, willing to converse with me. But her older sister restrained her, pulling her back and spinning her around in the opposite direction.

"No, Ellie. We mustn't disturb that woman." I knew she was trying to be polite. They all tried.

As the girls walked away from me, I heard Ellie ask her sister a string of questions:

"But why, Ann? Why mustn't we disturb that woman? She didn't seem busy. Why does she look like that? Why does she wear that patch over her eye?"

And I heard her sister reply:

"I don't know, Ellie. I don't know." She repeated this phrase over and over again, trying to avoid thinking of a logical answer. Finally she leaned down and hissed menacingly at the girl, "You know, curiosity killed the cat."

I saw young Ellie stop dead in her tracks, and I saw her sister smirk as she dragged her around the corner.

I picked up my journal and gathered the ends of my dress. It was getting late, and I was tired, as I have already said. But before I left the deck, I strode to the edge and peered over at the turbid waters below me.

The moon reflected against the mirror of the ocean. I smiled at the beauty of it all.

I looked out over the waters and saw a thin strip of land—France. We would be landing shortly—so much for rest. That would have to come later.

I turned to leave, but froze as I noticed a small boy standing in my way. He stared up at me with that curious look all young children wore. His hair was a mess of black strands and flecks of dust; he had obviously been frolicking on the old boards of the deck.

He smiled up at me. I didn't know how to react. When was the last time anyone smiled at me? I returned only half a smile to the boy. When was the last time I smiled? The muscles of my face were stiff and unyielding to the grin I attempted to produce, but whatever came out of my efforts was enough to please the boy. His pale blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and his smile grew wider.

We stood silent, gazing into each other's eyes. I had never been that close to a child before. I felt vulnerable and extremely uncomfortable. My dilemma was soon solved, however, when his mother showed up.

"Charles! Where have you been? We've been searching this entire vessel-" she froze when she noticed me. I brought my head up slowly to meet her stare. She immediately looked away, grabbing young Charles by the hand and whisking him away from me. I sighed. There was nothing I could do for the puerile at heart.

Please review.