Friday, November 7, 2014

missing


a beanpole blond 11 year old girl scampered by, 'what's that on your arms?' i asked. she hardly looked at me as she threw her answer over her shoulder and continued on her child's mission, 'them's tats.' i opened my mouth to say they're not real, right? but before i could get the words out, my snaggle-toothed white trash escort read my thoughts and said, 'thay's real a'right. 'round here if yer mama 'n daddy letcha, you kin get 'em even if yer a kid.' we walked on in silence down the dusty streets until we arrived at the house. it was worse than i remembered- barely a shack. most of the walls warped, scavenged plywood held up by precarious heaps of scrap and debris piled next to them. as we neared, the door opened and the worried woman moved quickly toward me. i'd written a story a couple of years back about the death of her brother at the hands of the corrupt local police and now that her 10 year old daughter had gone missing, she reached out to me to see if i could stir up more than local help.

she wrung her hands as she recited the details of the disappearance and her subsequent attempts to find her little girl. once she told me about the reaction of the officials involved in the case, i knew the child was dead but did not say it out loud.

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