The Meaning of Home
Hi, my name is Sadie. I am 12 years old but I don’t have a family or home. I live on the streets with my only friend Ally, she’s homeless as well. Together we try to stay alive on the streets.
I can remember what my home was like, it was just me and my mom. I still had a home with a cushy bed to sleep in and delicious food that my mom would assemble for me. Sadly she died in a tragic car crash when I was little.
Life on the cold dirty streets is horrible but I’m glad I have Ally to keep me company. Right now I listen to her soft breaths through the whistling wind while she sleeps on the cemented steps of the cold dark doorway.
In the morning I open my eyes to the bright sunlight shining through the trees. Ally has already brought us our breakfast, expired yogurt and stale cereal. ”Thanks” I tell her but she doesn’t reply, she seemed upset about something “You OK?” I ask. Then out of nowhere she bursts into tears.
“What’s wrong?” I wonder “I miss having a home” she sobbed “I know, me too” I said “but we can’t change that now and at least we have each other”. Her tears start slowing down. “I guess” she murmurs.
For the rest of the day Ally and I beg for money. That doesn’t go to well. I think it’s because they are wondering why there are two twelve year old’s living by themselves on the streets and I have to say I can’t blame them.
When we settle down to sleep but I can’t stop thinking about how much I wish Ally and I had a warm home with nice parents and a plush cozy bed.