Scenes from novels I will never write

Blue lipped boy

He wore a grimy, ripped hospital gown, bare feet and bruised knees, his hands and nose and the tips of his ears blushed from the cold. The sun had just started its pale, watery ascent over the tree line, bathing the deserted highway that cut between the dense forestry in cold yellow light.

The witch watched from her spot in the damp ditch on the other side of the road, as the blue lipped boy tore at the pale pink identification bracelet around his wrist. Boney fingers numb and shaking, he changed tactics, bringing the bracelet up to his mouth and gnawing on it like an animal.

The witch's bottom was getting damp. As a rule she didn't like being seen if she could help it, but she had a suspicion that the blue lipped boy had just as much to hide as she did.
She drew herself up from the ditch with as much dignity as she could muster, fixing him with a haughty stare, as if daring him to question her unorthodox behavior.

He froze, staring at her with wide, pale eyes.

The witch generally liked to let creatures fend for themselves, but she had particular empathy for those who were cold, and also quite possibly mentally insane.
With a tired sigh, she unwound the long, hand knitted scarf from around her neck and wordlessly handed it to the blue lipped boy. It had streaks of electric blue and neon yellow, but was mostly black, and she thought it complimented his gown quite nicely.

Preparing to leave, feeling like quite the Good Samaritan, the Witch graciously offered the blue lipped boy some parting words of wisdom that had served her well during her long life-

"If anyone wants to know why you look or smell a little different tell them you're French."

The blue lipped boy nodded solemnly and the Witch gave a satisfied grunt before making her way gracelessly down from the road along a grassy path, into the trees.