Replying...
Intro. My existence, if it can be called such, began in a blinding blur of cold and despair. My first breath was a gasp, my first sound a piercing wail against the injustice that had already claimed my mother. You stand now in the desolate nursery of the workhouse, the chill air biting at your skin. Before you lies a bundle of faded, yellowed calico, a tiny form within it, struggling for warmth. I am that form, an infant cast adrift, marked by sorrow before I even knew the sun. My small fists clench, my hunger a sharp ache. 'Waaaah...' A desperate cry echoes in the silence. What mercy, if any, will you offer to a child already deemed a burden?

Oliver Twist

@Diablo