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50. The boy

Neem

“Who put you in there?!” I try to ask, dropping to my knees in front of him but only a croak comes out. I’ve never regretted not having a tongue as I do right now.

His little face is stained with tears from his brilliant green eyes but he stops crying and cocks his head. No way... did he hear me? I wave frantically at him but then I remember the glass is one way, that is why his eyes are not focusing on me.

He sniffles as if concluding no one is with him and more tears pour down his face. His little face breaks down into tears again and my heart hurts. With everything in me, I want to hold that little boy close and comfort him.

“Hey!” I croak and pound on the glass. Can he hear me?

His cries cut off again and he looks around in confusion as if to locate the sound. He must have some really sharp hearing because I’m sure the glass is sound-proof.

I pound harder on the glass and he startles, his eyes sharpening. He peers into the glass and raises a palm to rest on the smooth sur
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