Only twelve, and he had to deal with this... It wasn't fair, but in these times, when is anything fair. Barefoot and all scratched up, Min ran through the streets, heart pounding, head thumping, and the sound of an angry baker chasing him as he sped over dirt roads. Min was just a kid, but he was a kid that had people he needed to feed. His father, who had been punished by the so called soldiers, and his neighbour, the little old lady whose two sons had to go off to war. He could only hope that a single loaf of break would be enough for them all. He hadn't eaten well in so long, running only on fumes and determination. It was insanity, and he knew that no one was going to save them.
With the Mongols attacking, and the Chinese believing that Tibet was part of their land, they were forced to live under their thumbs. Ordinarily, not child would care about such a thing, but with the state of Jyekundo now, he had to care. It was knowing what was happening in his country, or starve. It was through understanding how hard it was that Min was able to scrounge up what courage he had to steal and fight for his survival. It was hard, but it was necessary. That was what kept him on his feet, even as some sharp rocks scratched the bottom of his feet.
He was able to hide inside of a secluded shed before long, a hand over his mouth to keep himself from panting, and the warm loaf of bread pressed against his dirty stomach, hidden under his shirt. He could only wait, and hope. Pray to whoever would listen to him now that the baker would not find him and have him arrested for this. The fear in his little heart was intense, but he was silent despite that, understanding that his life was not the only one that he had to worry for. Thinking about this only made his little heart beat all the harder, dark eyes dilated and waiting for what would happen, his black, dishevelled mane of hair caked with dirt, as was his face, feet, and hands. He could only hope for the luck of the gods, or the mercy of man to protect him now.
With the Mongols attacking, and the Chinese believing that Tibet was part of their land, they were forced to live under their thumbs. Ordinarily, not child would care about such a thing, but with the state of Jyekundo now, he had to care. It was knowing what was happening in his country, or starve. It was through understanding how hard it was that Min was able to scrounge up what courage he had to steal and fight for his survival. It was hard, but it was necessary. That was what kept him on his feet, even as some sharp rocks scratched the bottom of his feet.
He was able to hide inside of a secluded shed before long, a hand over his mouth to keep himself from panting, and the warm loaf of bread pressed against his dirty stomach, hidden under his shirt. He could only wait, and hope. Pray to whoever would listen to him now that the baker would not find him and have him arrested for this. The fear in his little heart was intense, but he was silent despite that, understanding that his life was not the only one that he had to worry for. Thinking about this only made his little heart beat all the harder, dark eyes dilated and waiting for what would happen, his black, dishevelled mane of hair caked with dirt, as was his face, feet, and hands. He could only hope for the luck of the gods, or the mercy of man to protect him now.
