short historic stories

this is a lovely piece of writing titled “Daydreams of a Migrant Mother” by “a student in Ms MCclure’s class who remains anonymous”. we are currently looking at different genres of narrative writing in our english class and our teacher Mrs Rundle encouraged us all to post a short historic piece of writing on our blogs just to start us off because we’re all slightly new at this 🙂 Enjoy…

Daydreams of a Migrant Mother: On-Demand Writing

The cool afternoon wind brushed against my face. I watched as the kids played with a rabbit they had found in the woods. All around me the sounds of the camp faded in my mind. The sounds of babies crying turned to a soft wail. The yelling of the kids turned to quiet murmurs as I drifted into my mind.

For the past few weeks since we left Oklahoma, I’ve been worried. It’s been really rough living on the road without a proper home and I just really want the best for my family. The kids have been going to a public school just two miles from where we’d been camping. They’ve told me that the kids have given them ugly looks and said awful things about them calling them “Okies” or saying they were retarded. I couldn’t stand any of my kids having to go through this misfortune. I focused my vision on my two kids Annie and Joey. They were laughing and shoving some grass in the rabbit’s mouth. I didn’t want them living like this but there was nothing I could do. I felt useless and weak.

The wind blew again and I went back to my daydreaming. My husband had been out for three days looking for any job available. We had planned to be at least in a home that put a roof over our heads but we accomplished nothing. Most of our close friends that had traveled with us already had a job and housing. The feeling bothered me. I looked around and saw some of the families huddled under their tents. I don’t want to be like this anymore I thought. But yet again there was nothing I could do. Sometimes I felt angry with myself. As if I wasn’t trying my hardest, but eventually it would just turn to sorrow.

My thoughts were disrupted by Annie and Joey running up to me smiling. I looked down on them and smiled, wondering how lovely childhood must be with no worries.

“Ma, when are we going to eat, I’m starving?” asked Joey.

Even I didn’t know the answer to that question; we had completely run out of food. I pondered on how I would say this to them. I gave up and just said, “I don’t know Joey.”

Writer: Anonymous



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