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I pick up a dirty pebble and throw it across the pond, watcing it skip. The moment the stony surface grazes the water, little ripples extend their round arms. I sigh into the wind. My life has little meaning left. Little solace. Little comfort. 5
I do not know what to do. It is has been so hard. So lonesome. Life seems like a curse, a stinging reality that pricks like a pin everytime I wake up from sleep. Like a burden weighing me down, suffocating me. 6
I live - everywhere. In the little carboard box in the alley, a preferred spot, especially since the weather in the city is not the least bit reliable. Sometimes, if I fall asleep under a tree, I will wake up in the middle of the night to find water dripping on my face. It would be raining, and then all the good spots will have been taken. 7
You never want to be wet. The big, old man at the corner has experience. He says you get disease and fall ill. You can even die. So I pick my spots, quiet early. 8
I live in the vacant streets, passing the dark alleys and the small, brick-laid houses. I can hear things from inside: sometimes wives and husbands arguing, sometimes children crying and sometimes happy families chatting. It is hard not to feel jealous. I did not deserve any of this. Never asked for any of this. 9
I often think of Mother. When she was here, life was so much better. We had a little house, and the suited men would knock and ask for rent, and my Mother would somehow fend them off. But we would always have a place to stay. There would be food. And milk. And cheese. I always loved cheese. 10
I remember snuggling into the crooks of her lap. She was always warm. I wondered if that was something with all Mothers. Natural heaters in a cold world. She was a wonderful Mother. Even when the rent-people came and disturbed her, she would always put on a smile for me. 11
I knew it troubled her. We were poor. She could not pay the rent. But we managed and I was happy and she was always there. 12
I think of her so much now. Not her dead body by the street and the wagon on top of her, but I had my moments. I had saved them in some little place in my mind, where only I could touch them. Some memories I remembered so clearly. 13
How she held me in her arms in a storm and she giggled and laughed, turning the scary thunder into a joke. I would laugh to. Because she laughed. I laughed. 14
The streets are filled with busy people. They walk past without a glance. People consumed by their own worldly problems. I knew the faces now. The old man had read then and he had taught me how to read them. 15
The plump, red-faced people were the angry ones. You never touched them. Never asked them anything. Then there were the little children. They gave you a penny or two. Sometimes. Other times, they threw things. 16
I stood up from the bank of the pond. It was my favorite place. I loved how the water reflected everything. Like a muddy mirror. 17
I walk over to the street. The little red-colored house has a nice woman. The old man told me so. I walk over to the door and knock. 18
It opens. 19
"Ma'am, may I have some bread?" 20
I stretch my hands out and wait. 21
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Honorable mention
Gold trophy winner
Silver trophy winner
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