The following entry briefly touches on the subject matter concerning rape and death, although not depicted.
The Other Side
Free Verse- Flash-Fiction
By D.K. Daniels
“Are you there,” the boy whispered meekly to the transistor.
No response, it had frequently denoted a presence all day in fact.
Though of course, when the lonely youngster assumed he’d found someone, needed someone to talk to, nobody was there.
A filth of grime and mire latched to the boys being, what with a mud clad face,
tired blue eyes, and filthy brittle blond hair.
Black oily bags sat beneath sleepless, no longer innocent eyes.
Whereby a shimmer of midafternoon sun glittered his iris while he sat by the radio.
Deeply buried within the confines of an old couple’s house, or the basement, of what remained of the building, the suburb, jurisdiction.
Getting caught is exemplary.
It wavers the death penalty in your face in one’s face, even for the innocent, regardless of adult nor twelve.
One ought to know all in due course, the boy suffered the loss of his parents.
Plundering, pillaging, and rape is in fashion, notwithstanding gender or man, woman, and child.
Gracefully, thankfully, Sam did not experience such cruel infidelity as rape, however, taking and murdering his family could be as therein as equal to such violation.
The boy once adhered before vanishing, starvation, which had become a standard exposure.
In some cases, stealing fruit could land you fifty lashes, a week in prison or most scenarios, both. For most, prison became home for many years, except Sam had never been to one. The boy considered stealing to survive; he'd never been able to though.
Starvation, tattered clothes and soleless shoes with poking holes in socks is trending.
For tomorrow the boy does not know, he’ll reflect on the past.
Respectfully the child would lose courage and hope of what could have been.
Except for the distortion on the radio, welcomes a heightened sense of longing to the room.
The sound waves break through the frequency. The speakers splutter to life; another boy spoke quietly and weak, almost as if a whisper, secretly and alike him in some ways.
The call resounded, coming from the speaker's crystal-clear orator, "here…" the voice distinguished.
The boy gripped the talkie carefully taking the extendable wire in hand, lifting the device to his mouth, pressing and dryly ushering, “I thought you died….”
Currently, I am on vacation, although I needed to write something so I decided to write something short and gruff.
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