One night
the crying came back. Louder this time.
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the crying came back. Louder this time.
” she said.
the land would die.
” she said.
“Be careful.”
someone knocked on my door.
the queen announced a festival. She said the land was blessed. Drums played. People danced. No one spoke of the missing children.
but I knew I could not. The gates were locked at night.
the child was still.
but no sound came out.
” she said.
” the queen said. “Like the others.”
but she was not moving.
the head maid sent me to bring water to the inner room. This had never happened before. My hands shook as I walked there.
it was one child. A boy who used to sell oranges near the gate. People said he ran away. Then a girl from the river side. Then another boy. Always poor children. Always children with no strong family.
the room smelled bad. Like blood and smoke. There were bowls on the floor. Dark stains on the mat. The queen stood near the wall. She was washing her hands.
they laughed it off. “She has good blood
I heard crying. Not loud. Soft. Like someone trying not to be heard. It came from the inner room
I heard things.
in a small town in West Africa. We had a queen. She was not born a queen. She married the king when he was already old. When he died
and why no one goes near the dry river at night. I was there. I saw what happened. I did not understand it then. I do now.
at first.
with people eager to purchase.
She smiled while the child stopped breathing.