The lost Girl

The girl was walking down the middle of the high street. She could only be four or five years old yet she was alone.

A few passers-by glanced at her for a brief moment but probably noted nothing more than the pale blue raincoat and the bright, garish pink wellington boots that she was wearing, before hurrying on about their day as though this was a normal occurrence.

One of the many people stood behind the market stalls looked up from her selection of fruit as the girl walked past her stall, calling out to her to inquire as to her well-being but looking back to her goods as the girl walked past in silence, not looking up from where her feet were treading on the cobbled street.

Looking back the way she came, there is nothing more than a few more market stalls along with people hurrying to shelter inside the nearest shops as drops of rain fall, the black clouds overhead threatening a downpour.

There is no sign of where the girl came from or who she was mean to be with, no worried mother searching, no indication she belonged with anyone at all.

Turning to look at the girl again you find she has gone, disappearing into the crowd or down one of the side streets, never to tell you where she came from or where she was going.

After a few moments you follow the trend and take shelter in the nearest shop, never to know if the girl is safe, if she found her family, or where she came from.