The boy strode as though he bore a weight and world weariness of someone three times his age, which only made him more curious to her. They strolled along the shore, her in a pair of taupe linen shorts with her shoes dangling from her fingertips slung over her lightly tanned shoulders, and him clomping barefoot through the wet sand. His clothes were torn in all the wrong places and strapped to his shoulder was a rifle, the nozzle almost dragging through the surf.

"You know you don't need that here." She nodded at the rifle that bounced with each step.

"You don't know that." It broke her heart to hear the doubt in his voice. His English was good. Broken, but good for someone so young that learned it in addition to whatever his native tongue was.  

"Well, I promise you that as long as you're walking here with me, you're safe."

He didn't immediately return the warm smile she beamed down at him. The shore extended on for what seemed like forever, or at least how she'd imagined it should be. Forever was beautiful, and she was helping. If only this boy could accept that help.

"I'd really be more comfortable if you'd get rid of the gun, dear," she said.

"Taking this away won't help me," he said. "Without this, I'd be dead already. If I had this before, my brother would still be with me."

"I know it's awful, but it's not the right way forward. I'm here to help. Trust me. I'm a helper." 

"Words are nice, but won't protect me from—"

"Oh, this just won't do." She looked down at the boy, frozen in place while the waves lapped against his cut up, dirty feet. There was no way to help this one. She just wanted to help. To not feel so hopeless and like she wasn't a part of the problem.

He wasn't the one.

-

The girl was adorable, in her own little way, for someone who walked in a shell-shocked shamble. Her pink dress bore the stains from what seemed like a sudden battlefield; mottled in blood which couldn't be entirely her own. It clung to her skin, bunching up in uncomfortable ways she didn't seem to notice. 

"Isn't it beautiful here on the shore?" the woman asked. She'd chosen this setting for the meetings because it was calm, with its own natural beauty.

The girl looked up at her, wild-eyed through her messy bangs glued to her head by more of that blood and dirt. She didn't answer, only stared.

"You poor dear." The woman tsked, running her fingers through the girl's matted hair in a vain attempt to uncover her face. To see that smile. "You can jump in; play in the water and maybe rinse some of that icky stuff off."

She'd heard of the "thousand-yard stare" before, and had to imagine this was it. The girl's defenses were in full effect. This made her doubt her mission or methods, and she rooted around in her pocket, pulling out a small candy in a bright red wrapper, dangling it in front of the girl's face, like she did when presenting a treat to her pup.

"Here, sweetie. Have one of these."

No response. She unwrapped it, then offered the naked candy, but the girl stared at her, or more succinctly, through her, like she wasn't even there. 

"It shouldn't be this hard to help you people. Go on, take the candy. Or don't you want to play in the water?"

The woman crouched down to make eye contact with the girl and offered the candy up again. All she was trying to do was help this poor child. Yet, regardless of her efforts, the child remained muted.

She sighed.

-

Trying to be good was exhausting. Between candidates, the woman took a deep breath of that warm ocean breeze and let it wash over her when the next child appeared next to her. This one was older, possibly in his teens, and had a look to him, like he was trouble.

"Hello," she said. "I'm a helper."

"Help with what?" the boy asked. He wore a tank top, a pair of sweatpants, and some sandals. If anything, it looked like he'd fallen from the couch in the suburbs. Not a war-torn country.

"You know, the wars?" She wore her most sympathetic expression, so he'd understand.

"Helping? How?" His expression soured, like he was looking through her. "People like you—"

This one bristled against her immediately. Snapping her fingers to make him disappear.

-

Another breath of that fresh sea air wasn't enough to calm her nerves. She opened her eyes and shock froze her in place. Laid out next to her was a child of some sort, darker in complexion, covered by a bloody sheet. She jumped, tumbling back against the waves that lapped up against the seat of her pants. The horror was overwhelming. What a sick joke this was.

"I'm a helper!" she cried in anguish. "Let me help. Please."

-

To think, all of this and all she'd gotten was a little wet. No breath of fresh air was going to make this sting less. She was the last one of her circle of friends who hadn't helped a war orphan. What a curse.

Next to her now was a girl, perhaps ten or so; lily white in complexion with cute little freckles dotting her face. She looked put together, wearing a fresh set of clothes and it just... felt different. Familiar.

"Hello, dear," the woman said. "I'm a helper."

"Um, hi," the girl said. "Where am I?"

"You're safe here," she beamed. "Safe with me."

"Maybe you can help me find my uncle," the girl said.

"Anything, dear." May gazed at the girl, trying her best to appear empathetic but not patronizing. "Tell me about this uncle.""

"He runs a marketing place. I think in the West Village." The girl stared down at her feet, soot and driblets of blood staining her white sandals, and created a line in the sand with the toe. "Maybe I could stay with him for a while. I think."

"Oh, I don't live far from there." Her heart flooded with glee. "How about we stop at my favorite cafe and get some food in you first? Then we'll find that uncle."

May extended her hand and the girl gripped onto it tightly, May returning a squeeze along with her warmest smile. This one understood she was just trying to help. The girl smiled back, stepping over the line she'd carved into the sand, and moved in for a warm hug.

Finally, a good one.