There was once a little boy. Whose name was Charlie. The son of a great artist and a singer, He had everything a child would want; toys, chocolates, pets, and all the ice cream he could ever eat. He had all the things that were lovely in the world.

But every night, little Charlie crept up to his bed, covered his little head with the blanket, and cried silently to the night. Little Charlie wanted to be loved. Although he had all the toys, all the chocolates, all the pets, and all the ice cream that he could ever eat. He did not have love. Little Charlie did not have bedtime stories, little Charlie did not have goodnight kisses, and little Charlie did not have good morning hugs. All little Charlie had, was a mountain of toys, that would stare. And stare. And stare.

One day, while Charlie was on the floor, drawing yet another picture that will not be seen by neither his parents, nor the servants, nor his neighbors, a knock came on the door.

"Charlie! Charlie!" cried the door, "Open up! I have news for you! Very Very important news!"

Little Charlie began to get up. "I wonder who it is" thought Charlie. "I wonder who could it be?" Little Charlie thought that the person at the door would be the servant, but she had her own key. Little Charlie then thought that the person was his father. But no, father has his key. Who could it be then? Who could the person behind the door be?

With his little fingers wrapped around the little knob, little Charlie opened the door. A sack came over his head, and a blow dropped down on his head. And little Charlie knew no more.

"Chhaarrrlllliieee.." Little Charlie's eyes flickered. "chhaarrrlllliieeee.." The voice. It seemed so familiar. Little Charlie began to think. Who did the voice belong to? "Chhaarrrlllliiieee..." Little Charlie's eyelids flew back. "The man at the door!", gasped little Charlie. Little Charlie tried to run, but his little hands were tied down by big knots, his little legs were held down by big ropes. Little Charlie whimpered. While the man, with a grin, said "Charlie, my boy. I am uncle Benson. And you have a fine kidney, a very fine kidney." Charlie screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed. He wanted to scream for someone, but who was there? No one loved him. No one will miss him. And so Charlie screamed. Charlie screamed so loud that he did not hear uncle Benson say that he wanted to take his little kidneys, little livers, little spleen and his little heart to sell. Little Charlie screamed and screamed, but no one came. Little Charlie cried and cried until a needle was stuck into his neck.

Back home, Charlie's parents came back from work, and sat down to dinner. They had roast beef with mashed potatoes. They laughed over each other's jokes, and when they finished, they took their plates to clear. Then while telling each other the day's events, they walked up to little Charlie's room, opened the door ever so lightly. And threw a toy inside. "This is for you, son." For both parents had long forgotten their child's name. And with that, they closed the door, and began to go to bed. Their laughter echoing in the empty hall.

Inside the room, the new toy joined the growing mountain of toys and did nothing but stare. And stare. And stare.