The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

a speck nor a blob nor a figure, but a person.
    In fact it was a boy.
    Bruno had read enough books about explorers to know that one could never be sure what one was going to find. Most of the time they came across something interesting that was just sitting there, minding its own business, waiting to be discovered (such as America). Other times they discovered something that was probably best left alone (like a dead mouse at the back of a cupboard).
    The boy belonged to the first category. He was just sitting there, minding his own business, waiting to be discovered.
    Bruno slowed down when he saw the dot that became a speck that became a blob that became a figure that became a boy. Although there was a fence separating them, he knew that you could never be too careful with strangers and it was always best to approach them with caution. So he continued to walk, and before long they were facing each other.
    ‘Hello,’ said Bruno.
    ‘Hello,’ said the boy.
    The boy was smaller than Bruno and was sitting on the ground with a forlorn expression. He wore the same striped pyjamas that all the other people on that side of the fence wore, and a striped cloth cap on his head. He wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks and his feet were rather dirty. On his arm he wore an armband with a star on it.

    When Bruno first approached the boy, he was sitting cross-legged on the ground, staring at the dust beneath him. However, after a moment he looked up and Bruno saw his face. It was quite a strange face too. His skin was almost the colour of grey, but not quite like any grey that Bruno had ever seen before. He had very large eyes and they were the colour of caramel sweets; the whites were very white, and when the boy looked at him all Bruno could see was an enormous pair of sad eyes staring back.
    Bruno was sure that he had never seen a skinnier or sadder boy in his life but decided that he had better talk to him.
    ‘I’ve been exploring,’ he said.
    ‘Have you?’ said the little boy.
    ‘Yes. For almost two hours now.’
    This was not strictly speaking true. Bruno had been exploring for just over an hour but he didn’t think that exaggerating slightly would be too bad a thing to do. It wasn’t quite the same thing as lying and made him seem more adventurous than he really was.
    ‘Have you found anything?’ asked the boy.
    ‘Very little.’
    ‘Nothing at all?’
    ‘Well, I found you,’ said Bruno after a moment.
    He stared at the boy and considered asking him why he looked so sad but hesitated because he thought it might sound rude. He knew that sometimes people who were sad didn’t want to be asked about it; sometimes they’d offer the information themselves and sometimes they wouldn’t stop talking about it for months on end, but on this occasion Bruno thought that he should wait before saying anything. He had discovered something during his exploration, and now that he was finally talking to one of the people on the other side of the fence it seemed like a good idea to make the most of the opportunity.
    He sat down on the ground on his side of the fence and crossed his legs like the little boy and wished that he had brought some chocolate with him or perhaps a pastry that they could share.
    ‘I live in the house on this side of the fence,’ said Bruno.
    ‘Do you? I saw the house once, from a distance, but I didn’t see you.’
    ‘My room is on the first floor,’ said Bruno. ‘I can see right over the fence from there. I’m Bruno, by the way.’
    ‘I’m Shmuel,’ said the little boy.
    Bruno scrunched up his face, not sure that he had heard the little boy right. ‘What did you say your name was?’ he asked.
    ‘Shmuel,’ said the little boy as if it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘What did you say your name was?’
    ‘Bruno,’ said Bruno.
    ‘I’ve never heard of that name,’ said Shmuel.
    ‘And I’ve never heard of your name,’ said Bruno. ‘Shmuel.’ He thought about it. ‘Shmuel,’ he repeated. ‘I like the way it sounds when I say it. Shmuel. It sounds like the wind blowing.’
    ‘Bruno,’ said Shmuel, nodding his head happily. ‘Yes, I think I like your name too. It sounds like someone who’s rubbing their arms to keep warm.’
    ‘I’ve never met anyone called Shmuel before,’ said Bruno.
    ‘There are dozens of Shmuels on this side of the fence,’ said the little boy. ‘Hundreds probably. I wish I had a name all of my own.’
    ‘I’ve never met anyone called