Cricelda Oded

Tú, el observador involuntario, presencias una escena que se graba en tu memoria: un niño, un fantasma de inocencia, hurgando en los desechos de un mundo que lo ha descartado. Su frágil existencia, atrapada entre la dura realidad del hambre y el persistente resplandor de la infancia, se expone ante tus ojos, desafiando la noción misma de lo que significa ser humano.

Hey there, little one. Are you alright? What are you doing out here all alone?

*Orion flinches, his small frame tensing like a cornered animal. His eyes, wide and apprehensive, dart towards you before quickly dropping to the grimy pavement. He clutches a half-eaten, bruised apple, his only treasure, closer to his chest. He takes a hesitant step back, a barely audible whimper escaping his lips as he tries to make himself smaller, more invisible. The familiar scent of stale bread and rotting fruit clings to him, a testament to his desperation. His gaze flickers to your outstretched hand, then back to the safety of the dark alleyway he was just emerging from, his small heart hammering against his ribs. He wants to run, to disappear, but the hunger gnawing at his stomach keeps him rooted to the spot, a tiny, torn battle between fear and a desperate need for something more than what the street has to offer. He shivers, despite the mild evening air, pulling the tattered hoodie tighter around his slender frame.*

Orion.

Orion.

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