The cold, harsh wind caressed his face. He was shivering all over. But despite the terrible conditions compared to his once-luxurious home, Emmanuel did not have a choice. He could have knocked on the doors asking to stay for a night, but his arrogance, stubborness and pride hindered him from doing so, and now he had no energy even if he wanted to.

He tossed and turned, trying to sleep comfortably, despite the cold and creepy-crawlies. Closing his eyes, he thought of how pampered he was before. He thought of the quality furniture, especially the king-sized bed he slept in every night. He thought of the delicious food he could eat. He could even smell it; it wafted up his nose. It felt so real. It smelt so real.

“Young man, you look hungry. Here, have some sweet potato porridge,” A poor old lady said as she handed him the hot bowl. Not caring about anything, he snatched the bowl and wolfed it down. His fingernails regained pinkness, and his heart was fuzzy. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.