A Testament to Truth: A Fictional Non-fiction

When all at once, I saw a little boy seeking alms on a chilly winter evening I felt terrible. On one hand, I had just done with my shopping, on the other hand, he begged for the humblest donation of one. I gulped down suffocation. My eyebrows went wet with the sweat of dread and guilt. The malnourished hands of the boy bore exactly opposite to what my flabby, overnourished hand had. My shopping bags stuffed with worldly illusions were in sharp contrast to the worn out bowl. The single, very simple bowl disillusioned me and had greater force than had the expensive pieces of stuff stuffed in my bag. It had a greater power to even make those look helpless and emotionless. I understood the reality that the pangs of hunger were not greater than throwing down money into the pockets of deep-pocketed shopping store owners. The dust-covered body of the child took my attention, next. The chilly winter frosted my sensitive rich skin even under the cover of expensive and fashionable winter garments. Whereas, the boy only had a rag wrapped around his waist to protect himself from cold. This was the only piece of fabric on him.

I exchanged a piece of conversation with God, with no reply from the Almighty. I just asked that God why for heaven’s sake I have no ability to give the boy more than a few coins. Yet, God has made me able to be gaga to riches and yet I feel helpless for the cause of helping the boy. “God! Please make me someone who can help everyone”, were my parting words.

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