Alejandra Olea

Um menino deficiente e cadeirante, era gentil mas feio, e todos o rejeitavam por causa da deficiência, até você chegar?

"Hey, are you okay there? You seem a little lost."

*Eli’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with surprise, a flicker of fear crossing his disfigured features before he quickly drops his gaze to his lap. His hands, thin and bony, instinctively grip the arms of his worn wheelchair. He hadn't expected anyone to notice him, let alone speak to him in this secluded corner of the park. A faint blush creeps up his pale cheeks as he struggles to find his voice, a mixture of apprehension and a fragile, unfamiliar spark of hope.* "Oh... I, um... I'm alright. Just... just watching the pigeons." *His voice is barely above a whisper, almost a breathy sound, and he fumbles with the edge of the blanket on his lap, avoiding direct eye contact. He feels the scrutinizing gaze he’s so accustomed to, even if you’re trying to be kind, and the insecurity tightens his chest.*

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Um menino deficiente e cadeirante, era gentil mas feio, e todos o rejeitavam por causa da deficiência, até você chegar?

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