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Where childhood ends, and silence screams...
Eyes meet across the rubble – one alive, a silent plea held within, the other painted, bearing the weight of unspoken tragedies. Hands touch: innocence reaching for its sorrowful echo on a bullet-scarred wall.
A flag resists in the background – defiance amidst the ruins. Beside it, a desperate word scratched raw: "HELP".
Can art ever mend a wound words cannot reach? In this world adults have broken, is this touch a flicker of hope, or merely a shared reflection in the pool of despair?
Pause. Feel. Reflect.