Not Even Crying

“Would you like to come with us, child?” The man ruffled Rastaban’s hair the same way mother did.

“Come where?”

“To our camp,” the man said. “We have food and water and a fire.”

“I want my mother to wake up,” Rastaban said.

The man knelt down, sighed. “She can’t wake up. If you stay here with her, you’ll fall asleep just like her and never wake up.”

Rastaban glanced over his shoulder at his mother, then up at the man. “You have food?” His village hadn’t had food for days.

One of the soldiers snorted. “He’s not even crying.”