October 12th
I came across a rather unusual child on my way to Mass today. She is small, very small, I at first thought her a lot younger than what she may actually be, a frail looking thing with dirty black pigtails and the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen. They are green, but not just any green, they are a very vibrant color of lime, it’s almost eerie when she looks at me.
I didn’t pay a lot of attention to her outside of that, and to give her a little pat on the head. There are a lot of children in this wretched city, a lot of them very dirty coming from poor families. I assumed she was one of them, because after I smiled at her she gave me the strangest look then wandered off towards the shanty side of town, where the hovels and shacks are.
I did not see her again until some time later on in the day, long after Mass had got out and I’d made sure that the children at the orphanage were looked after properly while I went to do some shopping. We’re running low on supplies and Pascha is getting even sicker. He can’t go outside anymore, I’m afraid he’ll die soon too, just like the other children. The child, the little lime-eyed girl, was sitting near a down town vendor with her oversized purple backpack on her back, her dirty little fingers reaching for a peach on the stall. Obviously she was hungry, and doubting that she had any money to pay for it I bought it for her before pulling her aside to try to question her about the whereabouts of her family.
She doesn’t speak, she only gestures and makes little noises occasionally, she seems vastly underdeveloped in that sense to me, but she’s a highly capable child. I’ve decidedly put her around two years old, perhaps a little younger given her size, but no older. She’s very, very good at getting what she wants known across though with her gestures and facial expressions. It’s very clear that, if her parents are alive, she wants nothing to do with them, either her father or her mother. There was no way I could leave her out in the cold, not with the diseases and the traffickers, she’d either die or be sold in to some kind of servitude if she wasn’t properly tended to. Maybe even a whore house, there are plenty of perverts out there that would take advantage of her when she was old enough.
I took her back to the orphanage with me, she was reluctant at first, though something seemed to convince her that it was alright. The only clues I have as to who this child may be is a piece of crumpled paper in the backpack reading ‘To Ameera, love Auntie Nadie’. I’m going to assume that that is her name, Ameera, and attempt to track Nadie down. An orphanage is no life for any child.
Father Nathan Thompson