She had often imagined the scene: a man of indeterminate age stopping the ball that rolled by, her son running to pick it up, the man speaking to him with a smile, the sly offer of gum, the little hand clasping the treacherous paw that was held forth… After that, it all went blank for her. She could not bring herself to imagine what they could have done to him. She would wake up in the night, drenched with sweat, shaking with a helpless rage, blinded by scalding tears.
Anitha writes a heart-breaking story.
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