Standing alone in the wasteland behind the house.
Her clothes torn, dirty and hanging on her thin frame.
Blonde hair hanging loosely.
Limbs bloodied and bruised.
Standing perfectly still, a blank look on her face.
Shoulders slightly hunched.
Hands held in tight fists.
The waif waits…
She looks through the murky window.
Watching those within.
Following them with her eyes.
As they run to and fro.
A woman catches sight of her.
This dirty, silent waif.
She approaches the glass…
Secure in the confines of her room.
Staring at each other through the glass.
Curious as to what they see.
Through dirt and despair.
They spot similarities.
The woman inches closer.
The waif stays still.
The woman raises her hand to the glass.
The waif draws in a breath and opens her mouth to scream.
Her face contorts with effort.
Her body shakes.
The woman flinches back.
Recoiling from the distortion she sees.
But there is no sound…
The waif never makes a sound, no matter how loud she screams.