"Why", it was all I could think as I was seated at the table for yet another meal too small to feed us all.
We weren't a big family, just me and my Mom. We don't speak of my Dad, well, there was nothing to say, he's been gone for ages. left us all here to rot I guess. I don't know if he died or left us, Mom doesn't talk about it, I think it hurts her too much to talk about.
We live in a slum. No easy way to say that. And I have only one friend who hasn't gone already, Will.
So I hate it here. And every day I'm left to think, "why?"
Why are we so poor?
Why can't the city people lay off the amount of rubbish they use?
Do they even know how hard they're making life for us here?
Why are all my friends gone?
Why do I spend my days looking in piles of trash hoping to find something of value?
Why, just why?
I was left here to think to myself, why?
