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A Story That I Dislike
Below is a story I wrote a couple years ago. I think it was suppose to take place in the Great Depression times. This was as far as I had gotten.
I stood in line and waited my turn to be served some soup. There were thousands and thousands of people in line and the line was going very slow but we all had to wait. I looked back at Mama. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were droopy as if her skin was oozing off her face. Her once beautiful, silky, long brown hair was now messy and unhealthy. Her hair was all over the place in huge knots. Clinging on to her cloth dress was my four-year-old brother, Eli. Like the rest of us, he was tired and wanted to eat. People who stood in line got very annoyed by the fussing and screaming that Eli created when he opened his tiny little mouth.
A cold breeze came by and hit me hard and I wished I had some better clothes. I looked down at my raggedy, dirty, thin dress. It was old. I had received it about two years ago, when I was ten. I wrapped my arms around myself and imagined being warm. I daydreamed I was sitting in front of a fireplace laughing and singing along with my family. We used to do that a lot, before we lost our home. We lost everything. Including Papa.
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