The Kuto’s life was filled with sadness. Kuto was in Christmas Island, an island that was once a paradise but now was nothing more than a dumping ground for the unwanted and unloved. Kuto had a black and white snapback cap, his hair color rusted red from the sun and salt. His beard was unkempt, like he had given up on caring for himself long ago. He wore a green and black v-neck t-shirt that hung off his bony frame.

Kuto remembered when he first arrived on the island. He had been so full of hope, thinking that maybe this would be the place where he could finally find happiness. But it quickly became clear that Christmas Island was anything but paradise. The people here were cold and heartless, only interested in their own survival. Over time, Kuto gave up on trying to connect with anyone and retreated into himself.

He spent his days wandering around the island, collecting driftwood to build himself a shelter. It wasn’t much, but it kept him out of the harsh sun and away from prying eyes. He didn’t want anyone to see how pathetic he had become; how someone who once had so much potential could have fallen so low