Her eyes catch your attention first. They are delicate and dark, shimmering with unshed tears. Framed by dark lashes, she gazes at you, forever unblinking. Her face is oval-shaped, and on her head sits a dark tuft of hair. She is barely there, and fading by the second. You cannot stand to look at her, but you cannot rip your eyes from her photograph. Somewhere, halfway across the world, this girl is dying. And there is absolutely nothing anyone can do about it.

The photo shows only her head and slender neck. Both are marred by a sickening rash, which looks like a burned and ruined forest covering the earth’s face. Her skin would otherwise be a tan, coppery color, the same shade as coffee with a generous amount of cream. But it is not. It is scarred by this. The worst part was that this did not have to happen. Her dying, her scarring, her death, could have been prevented.

There was a mistake made, and she has suffered for it, though it was not her own. There is no solace to be sought. Her face is already at peace. She holds no hatred in her heart, just tranquility.

Who knows what this girl could have done if she had lived? She could have changed lives. She could have changed the world. But she is dying. And there is absolutely nothing anyone can do about it.

((Author’s Note: I saw her photograph in a magazine a few months ago. She was a victim of the earthquake in Pakistan but I know nothing else about her. I hope she inspires someone; I know she has inspired me.))