Impossible

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Mother told me once. She told me there are other people, people who don’t live like us. She said there are people who are never hungry, who wear different clothes every single day, and who sleep the whole night through, covered in blankets to keep them warm. She also told me stories about water, clean water, that comes right into the house, and she said these people can drink as much as they want, night or day. She said they can even control the temperature of this water, but I laughed at that part. Impossible. She said there are big indoor markets, where a man can buy as much as he wants. She told me of machines that show moving pictures, and of cars and paved streets. I used to sit up late at night and wonder how she could make up such fantastic tales. And when I asked her, she insisted they were true. I still don’t believe her. After all, if there were people out there who had so much, they would help us. Wouldn’t they? Everyone I know would give away their extra, especially if it meant the difference between someone living and dying. I asked mother this and she didn’t have an answer. She just shook her head sadly and said she didn’t know. But I still don’t believe her. These people do not exist, could not possibly exist. Impossible. No one could be that cruel.





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