Day three.
My stomach was growling loudly. I found myself lying with my back to the wall this time, staring vacantly at the bowl of food from yesterday that had been left untouched. Bread. It would be stale. I wondered, vacantly, if blood had sprayed onto any of it during yesterdays butchering.
It was close to where the children were, always watching with voluminous wide eyes. They just kept staring at me, hopeful that I might wander too close. Heck, they’d probably dragged the bread closer to themselves in the night. “Come closer, girl,” they seemed to be saying. “Aren’t you hungry?”
My stomach growled loudly again. Too loud. I hugged myself, watching as the little blonde girl with the pigtails scooted fractionally closer to the bread, her large silver eyes flicke
