By this time, the wind had picked up even more speed and the air became colder. The poor boy had been hungry for the past twenty-four hours. As the boy stumbled over the rocks and puddles of mud, his ragged shirt was blown to the sides. The boy suddenly collapsed from weakness. After he slowly regained balance, he made his way to the to the first house he saw. Most of the mansions stood dark and silent.

The first mansion on the corner, had its light turned on. Unknown to the boy, this majestic estate belonged to the most renowned writer of the entire country. Currently he was writing about the terrible treatment that the poor endured at the hands of the rich. Unfortunately for the boy, the writer was working on his book when the bell rang. DING, DING, DONG, DONG; DING, DONG, DING, DONG. The sound of the bell echoed throughout the empty mansion.

" Who in the name of god is ringing at this unearthly hour?! I am not going get that. Whatever it is, it can't be more important than my book," grumbled the writer to himself.

However after three more bells, he forced himself to get of the table and go answer the door, while his blood boiled.

" If there is anything I hate, it is being interrupted while I am working on the most crucial part of my book," he said as he made his way to the door.

When he opened the great French doors, he was startled to see that there was no one in sight.

" Great, now that I finally got here to see who it is, I find that its some crank head who has nothing better to do," the writer said angrily as he looked out.

Just as he was about to close the door, a little moan came from someone sitting on the ground. The writer was surprised to see a young child holding his palm out . This made the writer very angry. If I had known that it was going to be some hopeless beggar, I would not have answered. He does not have any idea how he has distracted me from my work. My book is more important than his life. I do not have to help him , the writer thought as he glared down at the poor boy on the ground. . Feed one today and tomorrow the whole family will be at my doorstep. Instead of giving the poor boy some food, the writer responded by saying,

" Do not you know who I am! How dare you come begging to my door at this time of night? Go away. There is nothing for you here!"

The poor boy looked hopelessly at the domineering figure before him.

" Please sir, I have been very hungry. I just want a little piece of bread," whimpered the boy with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Throwing a mean look at the boy, the writer slammed the door in the boys' face and left him out in the cold.