The world is a cruel place. People would only account others for what they cannot do, rather than their accomplishments.
In this utopian world, you either rise to the bottom or stay at the top. You are rendered helpless to others.
I lay my eyes open. The shattered window pane shone the distorted sunlight across my face. Looking into the mirror showed a girl. Well, not so much of a girl. I don't know my exact age. I'm around 18 or 19.
Peering around my shack, I was thinking of my breakfast. I didn't have any guaranteed meals, nor nurturing family or friends. I only had what I could get, and that wasn't a lot.
The laws of my homeland were devastating. A great famine had virtually killed a majority of the population, and with the bloodiest war of the decade, tore the remaining families apart, forcing brothers to fight each other in the war field.
I would have had my mother if it weren't for the corrupted King. I faintly remember her stroking my forehead, in our shabby apartment, but with her there. It felt like a palace.
If only she were here now. I curse myself forever for not being able to protect her on that wicked day.