Is God mad at us

                                                                              Is God mad at us?

            (Ammmweeeeeee!)

             Helppppppppppp! That was the sound of the ear piercing shrieks of the people on the streets of Haiti, screaming and calling out mercy to the heavens. Parents frantically grab their children who stand and gawk as buildings fell on top of one another. Buy sellers drop their fruit of baskets scurrying for their life like a mice being preyed on a cat. Chaos was everywhere in between. People stepping and pushing one another not caring who and what they injured, just every man for himself. Where was I in all of this, up in my daddy’s office having internal conflicts whether to listen to my uncle yelling for me to jump out the window or follow the stair that’s talking to me if I had wanted my life?

  “No Jenny, come back”!

  My uncle shouted in creole, but I was already making my way down the stairs. My big brother Roh Roh didn’t even have to wait to hear the screams and shouts of the people in the city. Once he felt the ground below the building shaking violently, he popped the window open and was gone like a vole [thief]. A true Zoë right there. I jumped down the 10 steps cause I knew if I took my precious time running quickly down the steps I would have been gone, but to little to late.

Once my left foot touch the last tenth of the staircase my whole left leg plunged down reaching half up to my hip. I screamed in agony as pieces of cement scrape my leg following with the splinter that punctured holes through my thighs. I cried like I never cried before, twice as hard then when my dad had took a stick from a bush and whoop me with it. No I can’t go down this way without even trying to free my leg. I tried to use both of my hand to pull my leg up to freedom but that only earn the worthless effort of me crying endlessly and more gashes that’s being plowed through my leg by the cement. I look up towards the roof and my heart was beginning to sail faster because it had begun to collapse on my head.

       All I saw was spots of red in front of my face and a great wave of pain that went up through my whole body from top to bottom. Gushes of blood slosh in the inside of my mouth making it very hard for me to cough up, not like I had the strength to anyway cause my larynx felt crushed. Consciousness took over me as I saw my life flashes me by. My name is Jenny Marie Rose and I was one of the younger kids that survived the tragedy in Haiti.

            Chapter 2 beginning of jenny

Weh! Weh! Weh!

  “Congratulations Marie rose, it’s a baby girl.”

Born on February 19, 1998 on a Thursday afternoon in Haiti was the life of Jenny Marie Rose. I was a 2 pound round healthy baby wrap up in a pink blanket lying at my mother side. My face was scrunched up as if being suck in a black hole while my tiny chinchilla hand grasps the air waiting to be picked up. Delivered in Saint Ville hospital where doctor Jean Baptiste had delivered me was the happiest day of my life or as I should say my family. When I got home everyone was up and at it giving all the attention to me. My siblings Roh Roh and Phara shower me gifts of 10 rattles, baby binkies and a box full of Gerber supplies and babies’ food. My dad though did the most by buying me a doll twice my size and baby clothing that will last me through the year until I turn a year old from now.

My dad spoiled me every time when he gets the chance to see me which is not that much considering the fact that he works for the government in Haiti. Even though he misses party events and holidays he always finds a way to make it up by sending jewelry or thickets to see Wyclef Jean performs live at the Haitian festival. We never complain much more about it unless gifts our involved. All I know is that I’m  my father one and only little Bo peep sheep.