That reminds me, I must keep it hidden. The child cannot see it, cannot know of it, or everything would change. Spoilers. I feel my inside pocket for the masked shape, rest my hand on it for a moment then push it deeper down, away from prying eyes. Just in time.
A slight movement behind me- a tap on the shoulder- catches my attention. Turning, I see the child in the light for the first time. What I see is almost enough to evoke empathy. Almost. Ghostly skin, translucent, dirt-specked; dark grey eyes deep set; feeble cheekbones protrude, casting the face in shadow. My eyes dart away, averting eye-contact. They land on a shard of glass tearing through cloth and flesh, leaving a single river of blood. The child looks up pleadingly; again my eyes shoot away. I scramble behind me for the roll of bandages in the first-aid kit I found. Clutching the bandage tightly around the child’s leg, I place my hand softly under its chin. The glass comes out with a sharp tug. Pulling the bandage tighter still, I tear off a strip and tie the ends double. I try to ignore the spreading scarlet circle underneath. This act of care is ironic if the diary serves me right- which it always does- but necessary.
Food for Thought 
Leave a comment