The way the blue skies and silhouettes of morning daylight makes me wake with ponder, I myself victoriously surmounted all the responsibilities yesterday with hope upon my face. I saw him, useless, weak and pale and could barely even walk. The sound of her voice full of malediction of life's unfairness, questioning every morning with a bottle of liquor screaming why she had me and her miserable life. Innocent face I can recall, my little sibling crying for hunger, pain of bruises and wan. I need to do something to ease the famish. There I go, together with other scavengers fighting for scrapped food, instead of education, books and dreams. Battling for pieces of plastic bottles, scrapped metals and tanso instead of rebuilding our own families, luxury time to play, and being in our own shelter, eating thrice a day. Here I am, at young age awake of life and fate's rudeness, smelling dirty dumped trashes in a place they called: Smokey mountain.
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Compilation of Vignette
ContoLife's somehow a mess, and it sucks. Whether you are standing on top or not, whether you feel the fantasy and reality, or stuck in a corner and feel nothing, It will always be that way, like a wave and a black hole that consumes you. But even if lif...
