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Zia slumped on the thin, grey mattress that lay on the cold wooden floorboards. She wiped a cold tear from her motionless eye as she gazed at the picture of her and her mother that was positioned on the wall. It was an old picture, though the faces in it bore happy expressions. Zia and her mother had each other back then. After a hard day's work at the factory they could come home and spend time together.

Zia especially enjoyed her mother's stories. On cold winter nights they would often huddle together on the larger mattress, keeping each other warm, whilst stories were told that allowed Zia to imagine a world so different from her own.

Life had always posed difficulties - in a world dominated by money, it was hard to get by on so little. The income from working in the 'Zing-Lui' clothing factory had provided enough for necessities though there was never any surplus. Working in the clothing factory was not a pleasurable experience for Zia's mother, nor for the hundreds of other workers that spent the majority of their time there. Conditions were appalling in the factory, though work was so scarce in that part of China that the prospect of negotiating terms was unquestionable.

The monotony of Zia and her mother's daily routine almost felt comfortable. There was a sense of security as Joe arrived home each day holding a bag of rice and wearing the factory work suit. Life seemed steady and pay, though little, was enough to get by on.

'If only life was still like that,' thought Zia. How she wished her mother was still at home to comfort her when aspects of life were looking grim. Things were different now - subsequent to the clothing factory closing down. Zia's mother had lost her job, consequently resulting in there being no income to support the family. After about a week or so, their formerly stable household felt a real deterioration, the lack of food was taking its toll on young Zia, who each night lay in bed, unable to sleep due to the pains she experienced in her stomach. Drastic action had to be taken, therefore one night when Zia returned home from school, news was broken to her. News that would affect a young girl's childhood, burden her with a sense of responsibility unlike anything she had experienced before, yet make her, like so many others left to get on with life, whilst their parents travelled abroad attempting to earn enough money to help the family get by.

Looking at the other decrepit slum houses that made up the dilapidated estate only reinforced Zia's worries of living in such sheer poverty. Pieces of rubble from the houses formed a carpet covering the ground confirming the fact that housing was so rundown in the area. Not far from the city centre, in distance the estate seemed a million miles away from the bright lights, of Shang-Yiii. Zia had only visited the city on one occasion, though had fallen in love with it immediately. The city was alive, exciting ' the streets bustling with all kinds of people. People from different walks of life with different stories to tell. Opportunities seemed unlimited.

'That was the thing,' thought Zia. The rundown estate where she was currently living provided no hope for the future. Zia had ambition, she wanted to escape from poverty, escape from a life of hardship and become somebody. When her mother returned home, however long this may prove to be Zia would have done something with her life.