Drops of sunlight fall like liquid gold as evening spreads its warm fingertips across the ruins. This is my favorite time of day, when the pickers return from the fields and whole world feels at peace for a few fleeting moments. I gaze at what I’ve come to call home this past week and wonder if I’ll ever be like the wealthy merchants farther up in the city. They whose palaces sit above the rest; a constant reminder that they have more. Know more. Live more. Somewhere far up in the area of streets that aren’t cracked and hazardous, a trumpet blows. I stiffen, eyes flickering from the napalm horizon to the marble palace that crests the city. Trumpets announce the prince on an outing, no doubt on his way to the harvest celebration in the old coliseum. It’s long since been out of use for anything other than fancy parties and frivolity that the hardworking people in this district have no time for. No doubt there will be scores of fine ladies in silks and cashmeres lining the streets at this time, aching to catch a glimpse of the prince in his royal litter. Just the thought of him makes my blood boil. It’s been a year since my parents died, and every morning when I open my eyes I reaffirm the vow that by some miracle I will get into that palace. I’ll climb the walls under cover of night and scale one of the trees that border the balcony. Then I’ll roam the halls, searching every room until I find the one. And at last when I do, I will kill the prince myself. I snap out of the reverie. I’ve waited long enough. Now is the time of action. No slinking around like a common thief- it should be public and known. He deserves death for what he did to my parents. And if I have to die too I swear I will. For justice. For vengeance. I slide off the cracked railing that lines the roof of my home and descend the stairs. Tonight I pay a visit to the prince.