The Tin Shack

Shack Sweet Shack

I slowly picked up my old and musty grocery bag. In it, it held my food that I didn't want the miere to eat. I opened the bag and my eyes revealed to me a single roll of bread that was smaller than ever thanks to my never-ending hunger. I picked it up as my stomach growled like a ferocious lion, and ripped the smallest piece possible off. That roll of grain was to last me at least a week in the harsh and muggy weather. Soon I was to walk off to my job. Yes, I had a job. This twelve year old meisie, me, had to have a job if I wanted to have even a tiny place in this world.
I quickly devoured my breakfast, and looked out of the crevice in my shack. At the house I worked at, they had glass windows, and almost everywhere else I went the windows were made of glass. Mine wasn't, it didn't have any glass at all, not even a shard. My window was just a hole in the tin with curtains to keep others out. The door was the same, yet covered with a different "curtain". It was actually a thick bathroom towel, somehow able to keep all the dust out. Did I also mention I had no flooring besides the sandy bottom, which I also used a towel to cover? When I was satisfied with watching the cars passing by and looking at the city in the distance, I quickly brushed my hair, trying to have a mental picture of what it looked like. My hair was always feeling like it was in disarray, and I had no mirror besides the passing cars. There's a few more facts to add on to about my home. Whenever it is really hot outside, which is almost everyday, I can't even touch the walls. It gets so hot outside, I have to make a decision. Let all the drapes up and get dust in my face, or let the house stay sweltering hot. Een very laaste thing I must add in: I didn't really have a water source. Every week's earnings I used a little bit to buy water and food that had to last me the entire rest of the week. But by the next day, it had already gone near spoiled.
I stooped to the ground and walked out of my shelter, since no one would, in their right mind, call this a house. I saw Tannie Hanzila's house, a much bigger shelter with a better atmosphere than any other house in our area. We lived in a "neighborhood," but all the houses were squashed together in a small area, and we were quickly becoming overpopulated. I hurried out of the area, not being able to tell if I was late or not to work.