The room was filthy.
It was clearly a young boy's room, toys covered the floor. Some of them reminded me of the stuff I used to play with at home, but none of them compared to these. There was a rocking horse next to one of the walls, a wooden and beautifully engraved horse- it was quite realistic actually. I stared to clear the mess from the floor and the bags soon began to fill up. Broken toys, wasted on this selfish brat who couldn't look after such intricacy in figures and dolls. Anyone in our village would have killed for toys like these. After what seemed like hours and many bags of useless, broken toys, I stumbled upon a book. I could read- I was quite good at learning- but the handwriting inside the book was so fluent and perfect. I struggled to construct a sentence that was readable.
It was clearly some kind of journal or diary, I turned the page and read one of the entries:
It seems like you are the only one I can talk to now. Father is never hear, he is always on some business venture of some sorts. He is a very important man in the modern world, so why can't he take time off? I have all the toys I could wish for and servants who do my bidding at my command, but that is not enough. I want my father to spend some time with me.
Sometimes I wish I was a naught. They at least get to spend time with their families instead of being stick in a huge, desolate mansion.
I slowly put the book down and backed swag from it amazed at the pure stupidity of this selfish, spoilt little kid. If he had any idea what I had been though that week he would take that back in the blink of an eye. I shoved the book deep in the bag and tried to keep it at the back if my mind, but it slowly creeped forward. How could people live like this, knowing the people in my village were starving? Well, apparently even kidnapping was 'okay'.
The door slowly creeped open and my neck snapped around to see what was there.