- Dec 25, 2004
- 33,794
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- Faith
- Presbyterian
- Marital Status
- Private
- Politics
- US-Republican
I woke up this mornin' at 6 AM, with the sun. Mama was still asleep in bed so I let her sleep in. Poor Mama. Papa left two months ago, leaving behind a note that he loved us but just couldn't take it anymore. Mama said he was ashamed 'cause he couldn't take care of us no more. Mama used to work at the big factory on the corner, but them bosses let her go one day fer no good reasonin! Mama said they laid 'er off on account'a they couldn't pay 'er no more.
I went into our small kitchen and took out the two pieces of bread we had. I spread margarine over the toast, but we only had 'nuff ta cover the middle of one of 'em. I put one piece of bread on a cracked china plate on the table, next to a piece of dry bread on an old stained gray plate. I went into my room that I shared with my sisters and brother, and woke 'em up.
"C'mon little ones, its a new day," I told them. They helped me clean up the apartment a bit. Then it was time for school. Mama shuffled outta her bedroom an' planted a kiss on each of our foreheads. I made sure that each'a my siblin's had some bread, and pushed the second piece of bread towards Mama. She offered me a bite, but I refused on account'a I wanted her to have it. She pocketed the bread and I knew from her expression that she was gonna sell it. I 'membered that the corner store was sellin' crummy ol' loaves'a bread fer fifteen cents each. I herded my 3 sisters out the door and made sure they were fit to be seen. There were patches on the places on their ol' dresses that we could fix, and holes in the places we couldn't. I saw a piece'a paper taped to our door. I snatched it off and crumpled it up, puttin' it in my pocket. It was from ol' mister McGregor, I knew, tellin' us to pay the rent or get out. He was the owner'a the apartment buildin' but I doubted that he could afford to keep it fer much longer. I didn't want Mama to see the note.
There ain't much to say 'bout school 'cause it was jes a dream. My pencil ran outta lead and no one could give me a new pencil, but they looked at me with pitying eyes. It was a long walk home, past all those poor folks just like us. There was a girl lyin' on the sidewalk under a piece'a tattered ol' cardboard. She looked to be my age. There was dirt on her face and her dress was nothing but rags.
Now it is evenin' and I am lyin' in bed with the lantern burning down. My sisters and brother are asleep next to me. They're so small and skinny and dirty, it pains me to see them like this. I can hear ol' mister Mason down on the street corner, playin' all by hisself on the trumpet 'cause there ain't anyone left for 'im. His woman died a long, long time ago. She played the piana so well. I know ol' mister Mason misses her so bad.
My ninth birthday is in seven days. Maybe Papa will come home. Maybe Mama will get a job. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.
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This is a fictional short story, written from the perspective of a child living during the Great Depression. Opinions would be appreciated!!
Thanks,
Kaylee
I went into our small kitchen and took out the two pieces of bread we had. I spread margarine over the toast, but we only had 'nuff ta cover the middle of one of 'em. I put one piece of bread on a cracked china plate on the table, next to a piece of dry bread on an old stained gray plate. I went into my room that I shared with my sisters and brother, and woke 'em up.
"C'mon little ones, its a new day," I told them. They helped me clean up the apartment a bit. Then it was time for school. Mama shuffled outta her bedroom an' planted a kiss on each of our foreheads. I made sure that each'a my siblin's had some bread, and pushed the second piece of bread towards Mama. She offered me a bite, but I refused on account'a I wanted her to have it. She pocketed the bread and I knew from her expression that she was gonna sell it. I 'membered that the corner store was sellin' crummy ol' loaves'a bread fer fifteen cents each. I herded my 3 sisters out the door and made sure they were fit to be seen. There were patches on the places on their ol' dresses that we could fix, and holes in the places we couldn't. I saw a piece'a paper taped to our door. I snatched it off and crumpled it up, puttin' it in my pocket. It was from ol' mister McGregor, I knew, tellin' us to pay the rent or get out. He was the owner'a the apartment buildin' but I doubted that he could afford to keep it fer much longer. I didn't want Mama to see the note.
There ain't much to say 'bout school 'cause it was jes a dream. My pencil ran outta lead and no one could give me a new pencil, but they looked at me with pitying eyes. It was a long walk home, past all those poor folks just like us. There was a girl lyin' on the sidewalk under a piece'a tattered ol' cardboard. She looked to be my age. There was dirt on her face and her dress was nothing but rags.
Now it is evenin' and I am lyin' in bed with the lantern burning down. My sisters and brother are asleep next to me. They're so small and skinny and dirty, it pains me to see them like this. I can hear ol' mister Mason down on the street corner, playin' all by hisself on the trumpet 'cause there ain't anyone left for 'im. His woman died a long, long time ago. She played the piana so well. I know ol' mister Mason misses her so bad.
My ninth birthday is in seven days. Maybe Papa will come home. Maybe Mama will get a job. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.
------------
This is a fictional short story, written from the perspective of a child living during the Great Depression. Opinions would be appreciated!!
Thanks,
Kaylee
