Compassion

I see her.

She couldn’t have been more than 10. Her wispy brown hair falls around her circular face as a graceful river does going over a waterfall. Her green eyes startled, she looks towards me, her face torn between the decision to run or to hide. Her eyes dart to the ground beside her, back to me, and with a pained look her muscles tighten, her legs clench and she’s off. I look towards the area she departed; I see nothing but torn clothing and burnt remains. Food wrappers litter the ground in an almost perfect circle. I see her bobbing and weaving through the crowd, no one notices her frantic running. No one cares; it’s a common scene in New York. She turns a corner and is gone. I look around myself once more and begin to pick up the garbage.

Amid the clutter lays a doll, a perfect, pristine porcelain doll.

On her foot is written the word Sally. A tear trickles down my cheek and onto the pavement below, splashing into a puddle creating a tiny ripple. So meaningless, you would never have noticed it unless you knew what you were looking for. I put the doll in my pocket and carry on. I round the corner that the girl did and I see her, picking through the trash. Her doe-like eyes stare me down, freezing me in place. The pain in her eyes stares at me, capturing me. As she looks on I place her doll on an abandoned chair, along with 20 dollars and a food coupon and then I turned around and walked away.

Returning a few minutes later she is gone along with the money and the coupon. Resting on the chair is her doll with a note saying

“She’s yours now. I was given her as a gift to be passed around the world when the owner sees a good deed. She's a reminder to the world that good does indeed exist, and can be found in almost anyone."

That doll is still sitting above my bed, still in pristine condition, waiting for the day she can be passed along, passed along as a reminder to the world of the good existence in mankind. Passed along as a reminder of the compassion we as a society still have.