Nothing. It’s what a poor man has that a rich man doesn’t. Those who want it must give and those who don’t must take, and, at that time, it was all I had. I sat confused and lost, in the charred rubble of what was once my home.

How had I survived? No one else did. Not even the cat.

Nothing. That’s what was left for me. My father was an orphan and my mother’s family had disowned her. I was just a ten-year-old boy covered in ash and soot with nothing but a pair of pajamas and a filthy, tear-streaked face.

What could I do? No family, no friends, no home. All I knew was that I couldn't stay there. So I did the only thing I could, I stood up and walked. You can walk pretty far when you’re not thinking about it. Moving was difficult at first, I was sore and tired. But before I knew it wasn’t thinking at all. I wasn't thinking about how my mother used to sing me to sleep, even though she wasn't that good a singer. Not about how my dad would always say, 'Now Jake, when you get to be a man, this'll be the most important thing to know' whenever he taught me anything. I didn't even ponder on how my cat would stare at me while I did my homework and would come to curl up on my books and papers just as I was about finished.

My mind was a blank, it was like I was cut off from the world. Was it raining? Was I still walking? How far had I gone? Were their people around?

Eventually I felt something. It hit me like a brick wall. Fatigue. So very tired, I was, I sat down against a wall and instantly fell asleep. When I awoke, I found myself in the city. I'm afraid I couldn't tell you which one, exactly, as I personally don't recall living anywhere near a city. But, despite not knowing fully where I was, I was once again connected to the world. My legs were sore, my feet were cold, and I could hear someone crying.