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“Mum?” Angeline called out, yet no one replied. before her filled her eyes.

Things were the same as how they were when they had left the house. The voices created by the cold winds, from the lifeless machinery. The
Concerned and uneasy, the two ran out of the house, looking for their mother. voices of a petrified brother, crying with loneliness and solitude. The voices
of a lamenting daughter, sobbing, wondering why her family had to suffer
from such fate. All of them, the voices of the underprivileged, rang out.
“She should be home,” Angeline thought.

And yet, ignoring the voices of despair, she wanted something new,
Without hesitation, Angeline ran towards her mother’s workplace, something she knew she deserved, something she would attain for herself, for

neglecting her growling stomach, leaving Lucas at home.
her brother, for what was left of her life-

Ignoring the dreadful scenery of the slums, she kept running, before And so a voice of hope emerged:

arriving at the production line. What she saw was a factory-like building with
tons of people in it.
“I’ll create the voices of happiness.”

“Mum… Where are you?” Angeline wandered through the building,
searching for the woman whom she held dearest, and after a few minutes, she
finally found her.

Her mother, assembling parts of machines with such familiarity, as if
she was a machine herself, looking frail, exhausted, as if she had the face of a

50-year-old woman despite only being 35…

“M-Mum?”

There was no response.

Angeline was stunned, terrified, as tears started to fall when the reality

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