By N.O.A. Rawle
“I know your face!”
Even with his scant grasp of the dialect, Bill had understood. Ruminating, he touched his snowy white beard.
“Tough first time, eh? And with a runner.” placated NGO veteran Olaf, who had led the factory raid. “We will find the kid—he will get a better life.”
Lowering half-moon spectacles, Bill cursed the workspace where twenty kids had toiled, slept and assembled Christmas trinkets, 24/7 for 12 dollars a month.
“Why did he run?”
A plastic Santa dangled from Olaf’s finger.
“To escape his oppressor?”
“Time to shave.” said Bill, the Santa look having lost its appeal.
Nice! I like it. Good job.
Thank you!