the meaning of home
Anna parker HATED her life. She was born with a plastic spoon in her hand and her parents could never afford to put a proper meal on the table. Her father had a horrible drug addiction and would often come home late and intoxicated. She had been sitting at a lonely bus stop in victoria for what seemed like HOURS and was starting to get impatient. Her worn out parents were losing they’re cheap, deteriorated apartment because her father had spent all the little money they had left on drugs and alcohol. So she ran away. She was in a dangerous part of town, and she had NO idea where she was. So there she sat, silently waiting for a bus to pick her up and take her far away from her dreadful family. A clump of her wispy blonde hair blew in her face as tiny white snowflakes gracefully danced everywhere around her. Each of them had a home. “What is a home?” She knew this wasn’t a home. A bus stop is a roof, but not a home. She muttered to herself. A car whizzed by, and the sky only grew darker. She tightly wrapped her old raincoat around herself, as a harsh burst of wind blew through the empty city streets, tree branches splintering under the pressure . And suddenly it came to her. Her family loved her, no matter where she was. And running away wouldn’t fix her father’s drug addiction, nor her mother’s lack of money. The only way to fix a problem is by helping it. She knew she had to get home right away. Gathering up her things, she stood up and started marching home along the lonely, country road. Anna parker loved her life, and she will forever understand what home truly means.