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We lay under the sycamore tree, the huge branches mostly shaded us from the huge ball of fire in the sky - other than the few shining beams that managed to glimmer through gaps within the leaves.
"So, you wanna tell me your name?" the young boy who is using his shiny knife to peel an apple sits across from me on a crate in the back of this moving jeep.
Refugee from a war-torn land, Wonders where she'll sleep tonight, Orphaned, homeless, destitute, Clings to hope yet sees no light.