From a very young age, I have always hated the idea of poverty. Gosh, it infuriates me to no end. I would throw tantrums when my parents couldn't afford what I wanted and envied my friends for what they had. I have always wanted THE GOOD LIFE. But who knew life had other plans for me? At 18, I lost my parents. Oh, sorry, my bad, bad manners. I haven't even introduced myself before boring you to death. My name is Eva, like I love to call myself. Evelyn to you, though. Where was I? Right, my parents died when I was 18, leaving me with my two younger siblings to cater for. Now, at 28 years old, I am exactly the poor, wretched woman I never wanted to become. I don't even have a decent pair of shoes; I know this because mine just fell apart on my way to work. Unless you count raising my 19 and 20-year-old siblings as an achievement, then yes, I suppose I'm doing something right. But this is not the life I wanted. It has never been the life I wanted. And yet, with all these thoughts crowding my head, I could still hear people yelling around me. "Call 911." "OMG, she's bleeding a lot." Yeah, with how miserable my life is, I'm still about to die. Damn, I really wanted to live well. Why? Why? Why, with every single thing that has happened to me, every single pain, every single thing I did to not die wretched, I guess that won't be happening. I said to myself as I felt my breath slowly leave me. But if there is a second life, I promise to never die poor in that. Someone, please, let me live...