Laila's POVThe dead bay was a disgusting concept.The little girl didn't say a word as she moved in, not a bit moved or impacted by what we saw as she weaved, through bodies lying on blankets, mats, and torn pieces of cardboard. I felt nauseous as we kept going but to her, her expression remained the same and I couldn't help but wonder how long she had been in these walls.And I wondered if she believed she would end up like the rest of them.She led me toward the far corner where two women shared a small space barely big enough for one. One woman was asleep, her mouth hanging open, her chest rising slowly. The other lay awake, eyes sunken. Her skin looked gray under the thin light. She clutched a cracked plastic bowl.“That’s my mom,” the girl said and stood straighter, like she wanted to look older. “She can’t walk anymore.”The mother turned her head with effort. Her eyes met mine, and for a second I forgot how to breathe. There was fear there, but also a strange acceptance, like
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