Two Faces

Qura Tul Ain, 15, US

As the sun began to set, and darkness filled the skies, a young boy was wandering the streets of on a blistering cold night during mid-December.

The young boy was one of the poorest in the city. He was a little over six years old, but looked far younger because of his malnourished body and sunken face. His hair desperately needed a haircut and looked as if it had not been brushed in three months. His face was dark-colored because of all the layers of dirt that had collected over time. The lines on his face clearly showed the hard life had been on him. His eyes were probably the only striking features in his whole face. They were the kind of eyes that had seen only misery and hardships, more than any child should have to bear.

The boys' ragged and torn shirt barely covered him and his skin hung loose around his skeleton. His hands were the kind that had done years of hard, knuckle grinding work that could not even afford him a piece of bread.

Life of extreme poverty was the only life he knew. Ever since he was born, he barely lived a hand to mouth existence. The world is not kind to those whose life had served no purpose. This was a lesson that he learned at an early age. He was born a street rat, lived as street rat, and would die as a street rat. He had learned this lesson at a very early age.

"Go! Go away from here. There is no place in the world for the poor," an old man had once told him.

Whenever he was hungry, these thoughts constantly plagued him repeatedly in his head.

Ahead of him, there was a long row of palaces owned by the rich and famous. The boy felt dizzy as he looked up to see the magnificent works of art that rose past the clouds. How lucky these people are. They have so much, the boy thought wishfully; maybe they will be kind enough to give me some bread.