Years ago, my piggy bank was all I'd got to call as a bank locker. When it used to break, it broke me with it. Either willingly or against my will, I'd to break it someday. It was the money stored in it which I needed. But on its breakage, I would hardly pay any heed to the silvery coins which jingled on the floor and the paper notes of rupees ten and twenty which flew in the air when a breeze escaped the drapes of the window. Rather, I'll kneel on the ground and clutch onto the shattered pieces of frozen mud while weeping my heart out. It would take me a longer span of time to recover from the loss of my friend who made me learn the art of saving. It wasn't like I'll be all alone as my mother will bought me a new pinky ponky piggy on the very next day. But the sad part was it also met its death when my wants exceeded their limits. That's why, it's arrival failed to exhilarate me. Nevertheless, I'd welcomed it in my life, filled it's tummy with currency and then, strangled it a day. I'm happy for growing up as there won't be anymore blood on my hands. But I can't forgive myself for all the deaths I've cause. My conscience will never free me from this burden which my heart carries.