My Short Stories .The empty Bowl.

The village had once been filled with laughter, the sound of children running through fields and families gathering at the market square. But now the fields lay barren, cracked earth stretching endlessly beneath a sky that refused to rain. Every day, Amara walked the same path to the riverbed, hoping the water might have returned overnight. Each morning she found only dust and silence.

Her little brother, Kofi, sat on the doorstep with a wooden bowl in his lap. He carried it everywhere, though it had been weeks since it held more than a few grains of rice. “Maybe today,” he would whisper, as if speaking hope could make food appear. Amara would smile, though her stomach ached with emptiness. She didn’t want him to see the fear behind her eyes.

One afternoon, as she searched the brittle fields for wild roots, Amara found a single green shoot pushing through the soil. She knelt and touched it gently, a fragile promise that the earth had not given up entirely. Carefully, she covered it back with soil and whispered, “Grow.”

That night, she sat with Kofi and told him stories of harvests yet to come, of bowls filled to the brim and laughter returning to their village. The hunger remained, sharp and unrelenting, but in that moment they held something stronger—hope. And in times of famine, hope was the first seed that needed to grow.

Children Worldwide are Starving and it breaks any decent human beings Heart.