A young girl lies in a hospital bed with no medicine. She has a name, but no one says it. She has no family to hold her hand. There is no doctor who can afford to stay past the hour. She just stares at the ceiling, wondering if it is the last thing she will see. She is 9. She is dying of something that could have been treated with a $2 pill. And then there is the children who do not even make it to a bed. The ones who disappear into the statistics, into the silence.
Somewhere in the world, a child wakes up in silence. Not because it is peaceful, but because no one is there to listen. No one is coming. A little boy sits alone in the dirt outside a crumbling shelter, his ribs visible beneath a threadbare shirt. He is 6 years old, but he does not play. He does not laugh. He does not cry. He has learned that hunger has no sympathy. He has learned that the world, for some children, simply does not care.
No photos. No memorials. No second chances.
More Than Toys This Christmas
