The saddest meal I ever ate consisted of two things: a thin soup from the thigh bone of my youngest sister, and a plate of cheese. The family was quiet to begin with, eating with an occasional spasm or shiver when they would remember exactly what it was they were eating. My mother looked apprehensive, while my father refused to eat for a few initial moments of horror. I sipped my soup and nibbled my cheese, trying to think of anything but what was going into my mouth. My older brother looked green, and kept glancing with watery eyes at the horrifying empty spot at our table. Father only caved in and took a bite when his stomach growled so loudly it made us all jump. Mother started crying quietly into her bowl. To distract myself, I wondered if that was what it would have tasted like if we could have afforded salt. My brother stroked mother’s shoulder. She didn't seem to notice. I let my eyes wander, but they fell on HER blaringly empty chair. A little moan escaped my throat as I stared at the gaping hole in our lives. With a shudder, I realized: I was next.