You bought some food and placed it in the backseat of your car.

As you started driving, you heard rustling behind you. Stopping the car, you turned around and saw a small hand reaching for the food.

A boy sat in the footwell, dirty, skinny, covered in cuts and dried blood and tears. His big icy blue eyes met yours.

“Who are you?” you asked.

He struggled to speak. “Me” he whispered.

He was hungry, for food and love.