I can not find the pastor. I can feel myself dying. Let this be my last confession. May God forgive me.

There once was a rich man living in a castle. He wasn't a good man. A winter came, colder and harder than the winter before. The people in the village below the castle were hungry.

They were asking the man "Please, help us. Our children are dying and we are hungry and cold. Please have mercy.''

But the man said "It is not my fault that your children are dying and that you are hungry and cold." and he sent them away.

The winter got worse and it got colder. Only half ofthe villages was left. They went back to the man, the pastor a devout and good man leading them and they asked him "Please show mercy. Our children are dead. We are so hungry we can't feel the cold anymore.'' But the man said. "That is not my fault. I do not have to show mercy."

And when the people heard that they got angry. It was warm in the castle and the man was fat. The man had warmth, the man had food.

The blacksmith lead them that night to the castle with burning torches. The guards of the man had no chance. They attacked them like animals. They made it into the castle, they made it to the room where the man kept his supplies.

But the man was in front of the room. His eyes were burning and he was holding a burnt down torch in his hand.

"You will never get what is rightfully mine!" he screamed. And when somebody throw him aside to open the door they saw that there was nothing left but ash.

The man had rather burnt everything than giving part of it to the hungry people.

And they were hungry. So hungry. Oh God, please forgive us but we were hungry.

There was no food left in the whole castle. There was nothing but the man and his servants and guards.

And so we ate.