"Alright, kids! We only have two knives and a dagger. Pick one."
The rusted iron tabletop shook as Lin's palms slammed down, sending a sharp vibration through the metal weapons and straight into Fei Ming's resting forearms.
The movement kicked up a small cloud of morning soot from the table, the gray flakes drifting through the broken window frame to settle directly on Lin's wrinkled grin.
Fei Ming stared at the ash on his uncle's face, completely paralyzed by the sight.
People were dying. Their shelter was almost in ruins, the blue sky had been painted grey, even the sun hid its face from the ruins of the city.
His stomach grumbled. His hunger gnawed at him, aching from the pain of not eating for… for how many days now?
Five days. Ming hadn't eaten for five days.
And yet, his mad Uncle smiled.
Was he not affected by this at all?
