On a normal Monday afternoon I'd be playong with my baby sister. Ever since the terrible storm has blown through the plains I've had no time to play. All I do now is run around fetching water by the pail-fulls and clean after every storm. I scamper down to the stream scooping up a pail-fulls of water, only to trudge back up the hill to the house to clean and take care of my sister.
One morning when I was making my daliy run down to the stream. the wind started to pick up. I turned around to find an onimously dark cloud of dirt coming closer and closer creeping It's way to the house. Frightned, I drop the pail, water soaking the hem of my dress. I run knowing my baby sister is alone in the house, and that if I didn't make it to the house in time we would bolth shurly die of dust pneumonia. I finally reach the house to find my sister crying in her crib.
Worriedly, I pick her up and start to wet rags, stuffing them in windows and under doors. At last I finish, only finding the storm is right upon us. I grab several extra rags to cover my mouth and to stwattle the baby.To keep the dust that seeps through the cracks of the flimsy walls from getting in our lungs. I hear it coming, it was upon us faster than I was expecting. I run to the shoe closet, sutting the door just in time.
Then "Boom" it hits, the house shakes and the shutters slam.Scared, my sister starts to cry, I try to hush her but to no avail the wind is howling. She screams louder, fustrated I curse the storm. Sand swirls around the house like an animal stalking its prey.I huddle closer to my sister, and make shure that her face is still covered by the wet towels.
We wait it out, I hear the storm quiet down the wind gets silent and my sister stoped crying.Glad that the storm passed, I peek out the door of the closet to find the rest of the house a mess. Their is broken China on the ground. The crib was on its side, I right the crib and shook out the blankets. Putting my sister in it and get to work cleaning. Grabbing the broom I get to work cleaning up the havoic that the storm caused.
Sweeping up the glass and sand. bent over the dust pan, dust in the air from all my sweeping. The baby starts to cough. I turn to make shure shes alright, satisfied I return to my work. At last I finish the cleaning. Exausted after cleaning up layers of sand, I sit in my rocking chair. Baby in hand wishing that my family could see how well I am doing at caring for my sister.
Sadly I remember the weeks of taking care of my sick parents. Then I remember what my father had said;"my baby girl you will grow into a fine woman one day," and so I have.
The memory of my father spurs more of my life that I went through without them.I cry with all pain that comes with them.My sister looks up at me with her little face and smiles I smile back. Glad that I still have her.She's precious, beautiful thing with the bluest eyes and the darkest hair she lookd just like ma. I kiss her up turned hand.
The next morning after the storm I sit out on the pourch, my sister sleeping inside. The birds are chirping happliy flying in lazy arc's in the sky. The smell of cooking bread wafted from inside.
But no matter how beautiful the day the ground was not. It seemed dry, cracking begging for water. The ground disturbs me, no grass grows. What I remember as a babe of running in tall grasses that towered over my head.
While my parents worked to till the fields to provide for the family was gone.The ground dry desolate without the chance of growing anything, not even grass.
Now giant mounds of windblown sand sit piled aginst the house. I remined myself that their is still yet work to do. Most of the time i find that i am worn out then i remember hat i have my sister to take care of . life is hard for me but i get through.
The end
(*i hope you enjoyed i might go back later and spiffie it up but for now i think its good. Dont be a friad to comment)
YOU ARE READING
the dustbowl the girl who prospered
Historical Fictionthis an old essay of mine it is about a girl who surived the dust bowl with her little sister
