A cold wind blew through the broken window as Malcolm sat naked and alone in the dark, skinny bruised arms pulling his knees tight to his chest. He rocked slowly on the stained, unmade bed and started to cry as he heard the sound of heavy footsteps.
“Bad man says fingers on lips, shhhh” he told himself pressing a grubby finger against his mouth. A shadow obscured the sliver of light that crept under his door.
Malcolm reached beneath the pillow for the long sliver of glass he’d taken from the broken pane.
“Not this time” he whispered to himself.