Not Just a Home
Not Just A Home
I come home from a rough day of work. I walk into the doorway. Toys are everywhere. The smell of cat food lingers in the air. Fur brushes past my leg, and my cat, Turtle, looks at me. I look around with hate. Cracked mirror. Peeling walls. Why do I have to live here? Why couldn’t I live somewhere perfect?
I took my home for granted. Big mistake. I lost my job today. Now i’m struggling to pay the rent. I had to cut my kids activities to pay for food. I sold all the stuff we don’t need to help pay too.
Still, I lost our home. Now i’m out on the street hoping to get my home back. I have to choose between starving or freezing. I rest my head against the brick wall and let all my worries surround me.
I understand how hard it is to be homeless now. Everyone who passes me gives me sympathetic looks as they pass, but rarely anybody stops to donate. Turtle lurks around, his frail body shivering. I breath in, trying to calm myself, but smell the musty city air instead. My tummy rumbles. I rest my head against the sidewalk and go to sleep.
I wake up, hungry and cold. A man approaches me. I hope he will give me money. He tells me that he is from habitats for humanity, and he says that his organization is building a home for me. I try and thank him, but I start to cry. My kids hug me. I look at him with happy tears in my eyes.
One year later, i’m sitting in my house, with the best job ever. Warmth is all I feel in my small house. Nothing could be better. “Thank you” I whisper. “Thank you”