When I woke up this morning I could not dream of what lay ahead. Actually perhaps I did, once upon a time. A hint of a memory was the prelude to the images that would be forever burned into my head.
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I woke up in the gym like I had every day for the past month. After the storm wreaked our home we were left with no choice. A hundred families packed into the middle school gym of Venice, Oregon. My mother and father were in the cots in the row before me, my aunt in the one next to mine.
The noise of the early risers had roused me, they try to be quiet, but I don’t sleep heavily like I used to. We still have to be alert for any flash floods or sinkholes. I don’t want to lose anything more. I search through my bag for a new shirt, none are clean. I guess I need to do laundry again. I sniff the shirts and pick the least offense to slip over my sports bra. I slip from under the blanket and shiver slightly as I search my bag again. The sweatshirt I pull out is worn, one of the donations, with a small brown stain at the bottom that adds to the sad state of the sweatshirt. The dull yellow is a bit depressing.
I pull my shoes on and tie them loosely. I …show more content…
Our numbers are dwindling as more family’s move out to find a new home. I don’t really miss any of them. They all did that crying thing, I told them it wouldn’t help. I guess in a way it did though, they aren’t living in this shithole anymore. Anyway the reason we help sort the donations is that we have a finders, keepers rule. This awful yellow sweatshirt is from a time I didn’t understand how that worked. We all get donations, but they are divvied up based on need and what’s available. I was selfless back then and wanted everyone to have their pick so I got left with the stuff no one wanted. Now I get it and now I have another sweater. This one is maroon, another college I’ve never been to and probably never will. At least there are no mystery
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I woke up in the gym like I had every day for the past month. After the storm wreaked our home we were left with no choice. A hundred families packed into the middle school gym of Venice, Oregon. My mother and father were in the cots in the row before me, my aunt in the one next to mine.
The noise of the early risers had roused me, they try to be quiet, but I don’t sleep heavily like I used to. We still have to be alert for any flash floods or sinkholes. I don’t want to lose anything more. I search through my bag for a new shirt, none are clean. I guess I need to do laundry again. I sniff the shirts and pick the least offense to slip over my sports bra. I slip from under the blanket and shiver slightly as I search my bag again. The sweatshirt I pull out is worn, one of the donations, with a small brown stain at the bottom that adds to the sad state of the sweatshirt. The dull yellow is a bit depressing.
I pull my shoes on and tie them loosely. I …show more content…
Our numbers are dwindling as more family’s move out to find a new home. I don’t really miss any of them. They all did that crying thing, I told them it wouldn’t help. I guess in a way it did though, they aren’t living in this shithole anymore. Anyway the reason we help sort the donations is that we have a finders, keepers rule. This awful yellow sweatshirt is from a time I didn’t understand how that worked. We all get donations, but they are divvied up based on need and what’s available. I was selfless back then and wanted everyone to have their pick so I got left with the stuff no one wanted. Now I get it and now I have another sweater. This one is maroon, another college I’ve never been to and probably never will. At least there are no mystery