Borrowed Time
The child was sitting, alone, digging in the sand with a spoon. She was young, maybe three years old. Asilla glanced around. There were other people in the park, but none nearby. She walked over to the girl. “Hi.” The girl looked up at her with big, brown eyes. Asilla squatted. “My name is Silla. What’s yours?” The child didn’t respond, only stared. Asilla took another look around, held up her hand before the child’s face, and made the sign. The girl began to cry. ...