Chapter 6 - THE RITUAL OF BEGGING
The tears flowed freely now, dripping off his chin onto his dusty shirt.
"Please help my grandmother."
His voice cracked, echoing loudly in the diner.
No one sitting in the booths turned around.
The waitress kept tapping on her screen.
The boy maintained absolute eye contact with the void.
"Follow us."
He swallowed, fighting the thick lump in his throat.
If you follow us, where are we going?
We are just going to stay right here, next to the rust of the wheels.
"Comment USA."
He pointed a trembling finger toward the large flag hanging behind the counter.
The fabric remained dead and motionless.
"Like and share."
He dropped his hand.
The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
They meant nothing to him.
They didn't smell like chicken. They didn't feel like a warm blanket.
They were just sounds required to unlock the glass door of the digital cage.
He stood there, crying freely, his face fully exposed to the judgment of the lens.
Behind him, the grandmother's head rested heavily against the metal push-handle of the wheelchair.
The three coins sat forgotten on the polished wood of the counter.
The boy kept staring.
May you like
Waiting for the invisible numbers to tick upward.
Waiting for the ghosts to feed them.
