Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

One World

Ritta could hear a baby crying in the dark; such a sad and lonely sound. It broke through the night, reaching Ritta's ears and sending a shiver down her spine. She longed to go to the baby and hold it, rocked it, wrap it in her arms and give it the comforting embrace it desired.

Sitting among the shadows was a boy, of perhaps eight or nine years. Ritta wasn't sure. It was always so hard to tell in this place. Everyone appeared older than they truly were, only because of the hardships they endured.

The boy sat with his legs drawn close, his knees tucked beneath his chin. He had such old eyes, they drooped at the corners and seemed to hold so much pain and fear.

Patting the ground beside her, Ritta raised little clouds of dust as she beckoned the child over.

He hesitated at first, but eventually stood and hurried to her side, glancing about him as he crossed the small, dark room; he was fearful of who might be watching him.

As he sat down beside Ritta, she draped her arm over his shoulder, pulling him closer to her body. He shivered violently and she realized he was cold. The poor boy wore nothing but a pair of trousers, tattered and torn, they didn't offer much shelter against the cold wind that blew through the cracks of the builidng they occupied.

His brown skin was covered in dirt stains and dried blood. He had a few cuts on his arms where he'd been beaten, and though they weren't bleeding now, they looked to be infected.

Ritta made sure not to touch the wounds; she could tell they were painful, as he was careful not to lean his arm against her.

She wanted so badly to tell the boy that everything would be alright. But she couldn't. She couldn't tell him something she didn't believe in.

He was welcome in her arms and that was all the truth she could bear to tell him.

He was just like her. Alone in the world, with noone to love them. They were a part of the same world, they shared the same dream. Though not truly related, there was more in common between them than Ritta and her own kin.

The same kin who had abandoned her years before were just like the people who had thrown this young child away. If only they could learn to open their hearts and reach out in love. Perhaps then Ritta wouldn't be so alone in the world.

She hoped that someday life would be fairer, that need would be rarer. There were so many people that needed love, and those that had love to give, needed to learn how to share it.

They were all part of the same world, after all.

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