Like every ordinary day, the sun was smiling, and the fragrant wind coming from the East incased a lovely house with warmth. A sweet purple bird tweeted from its nest and flew to scavenge for food. It was enticed by the drifting aroma coming out from the kitchen. After a few flaps, it perched on the second window near the pot of red roses. "Good morning, little bird," said a beaming teenage voice greeting a creature of nature. The bird looked at the smiling human, confused. After a while, it flew away to a distance. "What a lively day, hope it will be good," the voice wished while looking at the horizon, and the surroundings heard the splash of water coming from the pot of rose. His name is Martin Alma, and he was brought up in a place called the City of O. He was the eldest son of the family. At the age of 17, even though young, compared to what his friends are usually doing, Martin deeply inculcated it into his young mind to have a sen
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