Times had been tough for the entire family. Throughout the war, the rations were decreasing ever so much, to the point of one meal a day at most. There were four in the family; formerly 6, until Grandpa and Grandma passed away a year ago. Though those losses were sad, it was perhaps for the best considering the hellscape that the family was now in. However, trying to explain it to the kids, the youngest being 3-year old Johny, was near impossible. They couldn't seem to grasp why they were eating so little and growing so thin.
On one fateful night, however, Johny was extremely hungry. He had chosen to sneak into the kitchen to grab whatever he could. He knew his papa would be mad if he found out, but he no longer was able to care. As he tip-toed into the kitchen, trying his best to cause no disruption, he searched the drawers until he found one of the only morsels of food left in the house: sugar. He had grabbed a handful, but to his dismay and his worst nightmare, he heard footsteps. There was no point in trying to run. He knew he was in trouble.
Papa soon came out of the hallway, exclaiming "Johny, Johny?" The child then responded in as innocent of a manner as his brain could process, "Yes Papa," hoping he had covered his tracks enough by the time Papa had found him. He was able to put away the bowl of sugar in time, however some remained on his tongue, seemingly unable to dissolve. His father sighed, already knowing the truth, but he felt the need to ask anyway. "Eating Sugar?" he said in his calmest voice. It was four-o-clock in the morning, after all. Johny already knew it was too late. He tried to recover as much of his pride as he could, and responded with a firm
