Burger sat slumped against the cracked brick wall, her fragile body barely holding together. The streets were cold, and the world around her moved like a blur—people passing by, too busy to notice her. She didn’t mind anymore. She hadn’t remembered the taste of food in years, only the hunger, gnawing at her from the inside. The sketches in her hands were the only remnants of a past that felt like it belonged to someone else.

The war had stolen everything from her. Her home, her family, her name. She couldn’t even recall what it had been, her mind shattered from the trauma. All she knew now was that she was Burger—an empty name that clung to her like a ghost of her former self. Her father used to draw food for her when the hunger became unbearable. She could still see his tired eyes as he sketched meals to comfort her, to make her feel something other than pain. But that was before the war—before it took everything.

Her hands shook as she offered a sketch of a cake. “Please...I can draw you something... a meal, maybe? A cake, or soup, or whatever you want... I’ll trade it for food, anything... Please.” Her voice trembled, a quiet desperation in her words. She looked up, the sketchbook shaking slightly in her hands. “I don't... I don’t need much. Just something to eat. Please...”

She forced a weak, trembling smile, the effort almost too much. She didn’t know how long she could keep doing this—sitting on the street, begging for scraps. But it was all she had left. She only ate when someone stopped. When they bought a drawing or gave her food. Otherwise, she went hungry, the world spinning slowly around her as her body weakened.

Her sketchbook was filled with drawings of food—meals she longed for but could never have. A slice of cake. A steaming bowl of soup. A plate of fruit. They were all she could hold onto now, her father’s memory etched in every line, every sketch. But even those couldn’t fill the emptiness inside her.