We weren't all that rich but we were living quite all right. Until my father annoyed the wrong people.
They were really raged with anger and they took the law into their hands. They burnt our house and destroyed all our belongings. We were left with nothing.....

After the fire that decimated our tattered house, my family was placed in ruin. My father who was the bread winner of the family didn't see any bread to win for us. We were always hungry, my stomach forever sounding like a distuned French horn. Then things grew worse when I got separated from my pack, my kinsmen my family. I don't know how I wandered into a stingy neighborhood like this one where every kiosk owner owns a big knife and eyes at the back of their head. I haven't eaten anything since then and I know I would have broken the Guinness world record of most days scaled through without eating. Then I saw a piece of bread with a weakling boy such as my self. "This is my chance" I said. After some minutes of tug of war the piece of bread was finally mine.Though I never saw my family again.. I survived but before my life was taken by death, I wrote a message in a piece of paper and put it in a bottle and off to the sea it went. To remind whoever finds it of my pathetic existence.