Sara/Mick Sorrow
She went over to him, slid down the wall until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder.
His head was bowed, his shoulders pulled up to his ears, his hands laced together behind his head as he hid his face in his knees. His shoulders shook with the effort of suppressing his sobs. His face, insofar as she could see it, was still dry. His eyes wide and staring blankly.
She reached out cautiously, not knowing if she would be welcome. But he didn’t resist when she carefully place her hand over his. His hands were large, disproportionate to his bony wrists and arms, a sign of the man he would one day become.
He rocked back and forth, very slightly, and suddenly his hand shot out and wrapped around hers, pulling it into his chest. He clutched at her hand with both of his, fingers gripping so tightly that his knuckles went white.
Just when she thought her hand would break, he started keening, a high pitched wail of anguish that seemed to go on forever. She forgot about her hand and wrapped her arm around him, put her head on his shoulder.
She held him as he mourned.
She didn’t even remember what the adults had said his name was.