DAISY JOYCE

I’m an orphan living in a homeless shelter. During the day, I collect bottles to feed myself, and at night, I have no choice but to sleep wherever I can find a spot.

I am very poor and cannot afford to rent even a small apartment or buy decent food. Despite my circumstances, everything changed on a fateful night when heavy rain poured down like cats and dogs.

The rain interrupted my sleep, causing me to wake up and start running, though I had no idea where I was headed. By 11 PM, it was dark outside. Eventually, I came to a stop on the road, feeling weak and exhausted. Suddenly, I collapsed.

DAMOND CHRIS

  I was in the car on my way home when my assistant Moore said, "Sir, a person is lying lifeless on the road."

"Go check," I replied.

"Okay, sir," he responded.

He quickly got out of the car and returned, startled. "Boss, it's a girl," he reported. I paused for a moment before responding, "Go get her."

"Yes, yes, sir," Moore replied.

He carefully helped her into the car, but she had fainted.

DAISY JOYCE

The next morning, I opened my eyes to find myself lying in a king-sized bed, and I felt horrified. I quickly jumped off the bed and looked around the room, amazed by the lavish surroundings. Reality hit me, and I started sobbing.

“How did I end up in a hotel like this? I don’t have any money! I was sure I would end up in jail one day, even if I spent ten years collecting bottles.”

 "I couldn't afford the room," I said, pausing to collect my thoughts as I waited for a response. "I never booked any room for myself, let alone arrived here barefoot.

I remember lying on the road, and now I realize that my embarrassing rainy day has come because the troubles from my past are finally catching up to me. I'm finished." Tears streamed down my face as I sank into despair. Just then, I heard a voice.

"You’re awake." Looking up, I was taken aback by the commanding presence of the man in the room. Though his voice carried a certain arrogance, something was striking about him—his demeanor was otherworldly as if he had stepped out of a storybook like an animated character.

"Are you there?" he asked, his tone brusque, snapping me back to the present. “Wait! Can he not see me? Am I a ghost, or is he blind?”

“Good morning, sir,” I said, but he offered no response. “Sir, I can explain—” I started, but he abruptly cut me off.

“You should be thankful; not that you need an explanation. Now get out!” he yelled.

Confused, I replied, “Yes, sir,” and I quickly ran out of the room. However, I came to a stop in the corridor. This man is like a mad dog, I thought. If I leave now, I have nowhere to stay. I will continue to suffer. This is my opportunity—I had to grab it tightly because opportunity comes but once.

I went back to the room “Sir did you know we can benefit from each other “ I said smiling thinking I would hear a good response when I heard him say “I don’t need help from a lady that is dirty like trash, can’t you perceive the bad odor emanating from your body and it’s even spreading around the room”.

I felt a surge of anger, but I clenched my fist to hold it back. This man was like a mad dog. "But sir, why am I still dirty after being cleaned by you?" I teased.

"To be precise, I only need a job. Sir, could you please consider offering me a position as your cook?" I said.

“ I will never touch a person like you to be precise because I date rich and classic girls you are not one of them you are not my standard, I never help you to clean your body my maid did that for you and I have a cook already I don’t eat dirty food, now get out, “he said.

I knelt before him in tears. “Sir, I have nobody. I have been an orphan since I was nine years old. I have no one, sir. Please, I can be your eyes—not your girlfriend, to be precise. You are a lot older than me,” I said.

What I said seemed to make him angry. “Hey, lady, you’re stepping on my nerves,” he replied, then called his bodyguards to have me thrown out.

DAISY JOYCE

"I once thrived as a joyful child, the youngest in a tightly-knit family that revolved around love and camaraderie. My parents had three children: Luna, the eldest, with her irreplaceable wisdom; Kelvin, the inquisitive middle child; and me, the cherished baby of the family. Our home was alive with laughter, storytelling, and the gentle chaos that comes with having siblings, creating an atmosphere brimming with warmth.

While we weren't wealthy in the material sense, we didn't struggle either; we inhabited that sweet spot on the socio-economic spectrum that felt comfortable and fulfilling. Our mealtime rituals were filled with homemade dishes, the dining table laden with affection as we talked and shared our days. We wore nice clothes that showcased our personalities and occasionally embarked on short journeys to nearby towns, always returning home delighted by new experiences, yet never compromising our family’s budget. Being the youngest, I basked in the extra care and attention from my older siblings, who doted on me in a way that made me feel cherished and secure.

I held dear the moments that became the fabric of my childhood: shared meals steeped in love, nights wrapped in peaceful slumber, and days alive with the laughter of playing in the backyard. Words like tragedy, accidents, and the notion of a collapsing world seemed as distant as the stars—until that life-altering day during the holiday season shattered my innocence.

Dad came home one afternoon, his eyes alight with excitement and an infectious grin spreading across his face, carrying thrilling news: we were going on a trip! An electric buzz filled the air as we all sprang into action, hearts racing with anticipation while we began the delightful task of packing our bags.

As evening descended, around 5 p.m., Dad made the unconventional choice to call for a cab to whisk us away to the airport instead of driving. In that moment, it was more than just a ride; it symbolized a thrilling beginning for us all. This trip represented our very first experience of flying, a milestone that felt monumental, as we held real airplane tickets in our eager hands for the first time.

Our family’s travels had always been limited to trains or road trips, and I felt it was only right to point out this leap into the skies as a significant milestone in our shared experiences. What intensified this moment was the knowledge that we were not merely flying to a nearby destination; we were embarking on an international adventure.

The prospect of exploring new horizons, gazing upon breathtaking landscapes, and immersing ourselves in the vibrancy of foreign cultures danced in my imagination, filling my heart with a unique sense of wonder. This dream of exploration had been planted firmly in my heart since childhood, and now it was on the threshold of becoming a reality, enveloping me in pure, unfiltered joy.

The significance of this surprise trip extended beyond just the excitement of travel; I was acutely aware that my father's tireless efforts had finally begun to bear fruit. He had been immersed in the arduous task of securing a staggering one billion dollars in investments, an achievement that had felt elusive yet tantalizingly close.

I had caught snippets of whispered conversations between my parents, witnessing the toll this ambition took on Dad as he worked diligently for three grueling years. Despite his ceaseless dedication, he had grappled with the challenge of establishing the necessary connections to clinch the deal. Each time he faced rejection and disappointment, it felt like a dagger to my heart.

Watching him wrestle with the mounting pressure was difficult, especially in a world where greed often overshadowed genuine connections. My mother, steadfast in her faith, turned to prayer for solace, often seeking divine intervention in hopes of a breakthrough for Dad.

There were moments when I sensed Dad's hope waning, as he began to realize that many others were also competing for the same opportunity, a realization that weighed heavily on his shoulders. It pained me to see him struggle with feelings of inadequacy, especially as the affluent family behind the contract seemed to construct an insurmountable barrier of distrust around him. They preferred to align themselves with their equals, leaving hardworking individuals like my father struggling on the periphery.

I always felt as though I carried a unique perspective that often contrasted with that of my peers. Though smaller in stature, I possessed a depth of understanding and an intricate awareness of the world around me. My academic journey, though filled with some challenges, paled in comparison to the more daunting emotional hurdles my family faced. My siblings, too, had their remarkable forms of intelligence and insight, each carving distinct paths in life.

So, when Dad suddenly announced this extraordinary trip, it felt both thrilling and perplexing. The near approach of the holiday season caught us all off guard."

DAISY JOYCE

It was a chilly evening when my mom first suggested that we check on Dad. She had been observing him for weeks, noting how he seemed increasingly lost in the labyrinth of his work. The stress had visibly worn him down, and the once-excited anticipation of our planned family vacation faded into the background of forgotten calendar dates.

One afternoon, while he was away trying to find a semblance of peace in the chaos of his office, a wealthy businessman reached out to him. Their conversations were a whirlwind of hope, and soon enough, Dad managed to secure a significant contract that seemed like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters. I could see the light flicker back into his eyes, a spark igniting his otherwise disheartened spirit. Dad often tells us that everyone faces their own battles, but this time, it felt as if he had finally emerged victorious from his latest fight.

When he burst through the door that evening, breathless with excitement, our hearts swelled with joy as he shared the good news. The world around us seemed to brighten, and we couldn't help but smile. Dad's exuberance radiated through the room; he declared that we would soon be jetting off to South Korea once he wrapped up the project. I was caught up in daydreams, my mind racing with visions of boarding an airplane, exploring vibrant markets, and tasting exotic foods.

Finally, the long-awaited day of our trip arrived. The air was thick with a mixture of excitement and nervous energy. We had meticulously packed our belongings, ensuring we were ready for every adventure that lay ahead. As we piled into the taxi—our final ride before the journey really began—the anticipation bubbled over into cheers. Dad reassured us that this would be an experience we would never forget, and his enthusiasm was contagious.

As we settled in at the airport, I felt a sense of disbelief wash over me; could it be true that I was about to board a plane heading to another country? Time slipped by in a blur of boarding announcements and luggage checks, and before I knew it, we were finally flying through the clouds, leaving our home behind.

The vacation itself was nothing short of magical. We immersed ourselves in the culture, making memories that would last a lifetime. The laughter we shared and the sights we saw filled my heart with a joy I had never experienced before. But the thrill of our adventure was tinged with an unshakeable feeling of foreboding, though none of us could have anticipated the tragedy that lay waiting upon our return.

As we boarded our plane back to England, I felt a bittersweet twinge. The exotic thrill of South Korea still clung to me like the scent of blooming cherry blossoms, but the anticipation of returning home held its own charm. Our flight was uneventful until we made an unexpected stop in another country. After a brief layover, we boarded a connecting flight home, the comfort of familiarity soothing the remnants of my wanderlust.

Upon landing in England, we clambered into a taxi, laden with our souvenirs and chatter about our experiences abroad. But the weather took a turn for the worse as rain began to hammer down, slicking the roads and creating an ominous atmosphere. Dad cautioned the driver to take it slow, his voice steady despite the mounting tension outside. Suddenly, without warning, the car lurched and stalled—our fate sealed in a cruel twist of fate.

Panic surged through me as everything shifted into slow motion. The world around us blurred, the inevitable collision with a large truck grew closer. I closed my eyes and braced for impact.

When I opened my eyes again, I was engulfed in darkness and confusion. Pain radiated through my body, an unwelcome reminder that I was very much alive. I tried to shift, but my limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. Panic washed over me as I called out for my parents, my voice cracking in desperation, but silence answered back.

I struggled to find my siblings, my heart hammering in my chest. They lay still, their eyes closed as if they were simply napping. The driver, too, was unresponsive. A chilling realization settled in—an icy grip on my heart: I was the only one awake in this nightmare. I screamed for help, a ragged sound escaping my lips, before darkness consumed me once more.

When I finally regained consciousness, I found myself in a sterile hospital room. The walls were painted a stark white, and the air was tinged with the scent of antiseptic. A kind nurse entered, her face etched with concern. As she asked how I was feeling, I managed to croak out that I was okay. My next question, however, sent a wave of dread crashing over me; I needed to know about my family.

The nurse hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought. After a moment, she took a seat beside me, gently rubbing my back. My senses heightened, I felt a gnawing anxiety ripple through me. She finally explained, her voice soft yet heavy, that I would be going to an orphanage. Confusion swirled within me, and I asked the question that hung in the air, thick with unspoken fears. "What happened to my family?"

Her answer was a gut-wrenching blow. "Your family is gone. You are the only survivor. I’m so sorry, but even the driver didn’t make it." The words hung in the air like shards of glass, cutting through my very being. The reality flooded over me, choking the sobs that erupted from my chest. I wept uncontrollably, the nurse trying to soothe me in the face of a grief that felt indescribable.

All of the dreams of our home, our laughter echoed in the walls, flooded my mind as I learned that our house was no more. The implications of my father's unpaid loans became a stark reality. "He took out a loan that he couldn’t repay, leading to the loss of your house and the freezing of his bank account." The finality of her words shattered what was left of my world.

Understanding washed over me like a wave, numbing the edges of my pain. I had to accept the unthinkable: my family was gone.

After what felt like an eternity, I arrived at the orphanage. The air was thick with the scent of worn-out dreams and struggles. The other children, upon hearing my story, offered sympathy, but it did little to comfort me. As days turned into weeks, I faced the stark reality that I was an outsider in this new world, treated poorly, my vulnerability preyed upon.

At just 16 years old, I felt utterly lost, a tiny sailboat adrift in a vast ocean. I longed to return to the warmth and security of family, but with each passing day, it became clear that didn’t exist anymore. In a desperate bid for survival, I made the choice to run away, hoping that perhaps someone would come looking for me, longing to reunite. But the truth was as harsh as it was clear: they didn’t seem to care at all.

Since that day, I have sought refuge under a bridge, pulling blankets around myself like shields against the world. I scavenge for food, piecing together enough to survive each day. It is a struggle, but I persist.

Despite the hardships, I hold on to the memory of my family, cherishing them every year on the anniversary of the accident. Their memory fuels the fire in my heart, a beacon that drives me to keep pushing forward, to become the strong, significant person they always hoped I would be.