The boy stared at the rusted facade. Each beam, window pane and rusted tin sheets whispered to him of tales of the years past, of the days when they had seen the patter of little feet busily going about their work.
The boy remembered the suffocating darkness of the hearts of the man who had commanded the children and the darkness that surrounded him after twilight.
He had been rescued along with a few others but the men responsible had never been caught. He looked at the title of the school essay he was writing – “Child Labour” in bold letters.