As I woke up, I quickly sat up, a wave of cold air and disorientation hitting me. I looked around, my muscles aching from the electric shocks. The world was cast in the blue-grey light of dusk. I found I was covered by a tiny makeshift blanket, a torn piece of fabric that smelled of smoke and plaster. Next to me, the little girl was curled up, her small body shivering.
I looked at the skid marks on the ground and realized she had probably dragged me here, out of the direct line of sight from the street, to a less exposed area under the broken wall. A wave of profound tenderness washed over me. She covered me up but left herself exposed, I thought, a lump forming in my throat. Her back was uncovered, and her small, bony frame trembled.
It was nearing nighttime, and the month of October was certainly not warm. My movement seemed to have woken her up. Her eyes fluttered open, and we stared at each other for a long moment. She had reddish hair with unusual white streaks, and her eyes were a piercing mix of gray and blue. Then, a low, rumbling noise came from her stomach, and she immediately scrunched up her face, holding her hands over her belly in a gesture of pain and embarrassment.
I lowered my voice to a soft, gentle tone. "What is your name?"
"Sasha," she replied in a tiny, whisper-like voice.
"Where are your parents, Sasha?"
She shook her head, her gaze dropping to the ground.
She doesn't know? "Then where do you live?"
She pointed a small, sooty finger at the burnt-down house.
My heart sank. Now I know where her parents are. What are the authorities doing? The news reported the whole family dead, so they probably didn't even check to see if anyone was still alive. This is a complete mess.
I heard her stomach grumble again, a loud, undeniable sound. The fire was two days ago. "You haven't eaten anything for two days?" I asked, my voice a mix of disbelief and pity.
She shook her head.
"What were you doing?" My frustration and anger at the situation boiled over.
"Wait." She spoke the word simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Wait for who?"
"Sister, makes food."
A punch to the gut. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. Her parents, the ones who had died in the fire, were gone. She was waiting for a sibling who might not even be alive. If she needs to wait for her sister for food, then her parents were probably negligent even before the fire, I thought, a fresh surge of anger at the world's cruelty running through me.
"Shit!" I cursed under my breath.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. "Sasha," I said gently, "how about you come with big brother and wait at my house? We'll get something to eat there."
Her eyes lit up for a moment, but then a new wave of worry crossed her face. "How sister will find?"
I can't say your sister is dead, can I? "How about we leave a note?" I suggested, trying to think of the most basic, reassuring thing a child would understand.
I grabbed a small stick and scratched a message in the dirt: "Sasha with big brother. Go home. Wait." It was childish, but I hoped that if her sister was alive, she would understand.
We started to walk, but after only a few meters, Sasha's little legs wobbled, and she nearly collapsed. She was completely drained. I knelt down in front of her. "Come on, climb on my back."
She hesitated for a second, but then her hunger and exhaustion won out. She wrapped her tiny arms around my neck, and I stood, lifting her effortlessly. As I walked home, carrying her small, fragile body, I felt a new sense of purpose. The world was filled with tragedies and while I couldn't change that, but right now, my only goal was to get this little girl to safety and that was something I could do.
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The moment I entered the house and closed the door behind me, I heard my mother's voice, sharp and loud enough to rattle the windows.
"Ryan Richard Angelo!!!" she bellowed, the use of my full name a clear sign that a full-blown lecture was incoming. I flinched internally. Oh, crap, she called the long name. This isn't going to be pretty. "Where have you b—"
She paused mid-sentence, her gaze dropping from my face to the small figure of Sasha, who was hiding behind my legs, peeking out timidly. The thunderous anger on my mother's face melted away instantly, replaced by a softer, more curious expression. Her rigid posture relaxed, and a gentle smile touched her lips.
"Looks like we have a guest," she said, her voice now calm and melodic. "Come in, both of you. We'll talk about why you were out so late... later."
"Sure," I replied, a wave of relief washing over me. I quickly seized the opportunity. "And, Mom, can you prepare some porridge for her first? Something light."
"But I already made dinner," she said, her expression shifting slightly back to confusion.
"I know," I explained gently. "But she probably hasn't eaten in a while. I think it's best for her to have something light first, just to ease her stomach."
"Okay," she said, her maternal instincts kicking in as she saw Sasha's small, weary frame. She turned and headed toward the kitchen without another word.
I took Sasha to the bathroom. Gently guiding her to the sink, I helped her wash her hands and used a warm towel to wipe the soot from her face. As the grime came off, it revealed a clean, beautiful, doll-like face beneath. For the first time, I saw the full extent of her striking features, the unusual reddish hair with white streaks, and her large, solemn eyes. Seeing her this clean and safe, a profound sense of satisfaction settled in my chest.