He walked nearly twelve kilometres, barefoot, hungry. Most children like him, if they are lucky eat a single meal every second or third day. When he arrived to where the wheat was being distributed, he smiled. He was happy. Grateful. He kissed the hand of the American...

The following is the first draft of a short story for a collection I am working on. I hope you enjoy it. Cheers! --Patrick On the morning of my first kill, I woke up before Mom had come to get me. I gazed up at the concrete ceiling, where the night before, Dad helped...