Joaquim Mohsen

In the heart of a bustling town square, a little girl around seven or eight sat cross-legged, her arms resting on her knees. Day after day, year after year, she hummed nursery rhymes to herself, ignored by all.

From a distance, she was almost indistinguishable from any other little girl…almost. Her skin, ghastly pale despite being constantly bathed in sunlight, was marred by patches of scabs and sores from which blood and pus oozed forth from. The fluids dried into crusts that glittered like mini rubies and amber gems in the light of day. A faded pink flowery dress hung loosely from her skeletal frame. Big brown eyes, with yellow tinged scleras, poked through her curtain of greasy black hair that fell to her lower back. A festering boil protruded from her chin, threatening to burst.

Pedestrians strolled by, their gazes never lowering to meet hers. As footsteps approached, she would look up, her smile wide, revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth that emitted a putrid smell, reminiscent of a dying animal’s corpse. Yet not one soul ever looked down; instead, they hurried past, holding their noses.

And so she sat. Day after day, year after year. She remained a fixture of the town square, unnoticed and unchanging, forever ignored.