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Shortly after twilight Dianne looked out the kitchen window of their ground-floor apartment and saw Kye talking with Olaf Jensen, the building caretaker’s overgrown son. Like most Vietnamese, Kye was as lean as a whip but with surprisingly large bones, and tall for a fourteen year old, Mark had said. He would probably fill out nicely now that he’d be getting the proper nourishment, but at the moment he looked like a gaunt little boy beside the muscular teenager of Swedish heritage he was laughing and talking with, displaying that enthusiastic carefreeness which had been constantly a part of him the entire three days he’d been with her.
The observing, curvaceous young wife of two years absently brushed at her wealth of straight, long blonde hair, sweeping it behind her shoulders on either side as she let her sultry green-eyes play over the friendly scene the two made sitting side by side, facing the smoldering incinerator where Olaf was burning trash for his father. It pleased her that Kye had made a friend so quickly, though she readily understood how and why he would with his young, irrepressible personality. His spirited, toothsome smile seemed almost perpetual, and she doubted that his energy had ever run-down in his whole teenage life. But probably what impressed her most was the innocence in his flashing dark-eyes, after all the horror he had seen and been through, losing his entire family at the age of seven and spending four years as an orphan in an American Mission School, then running away to become a little ruffian, or whatever, in the Saigon streets for the past three years.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.