Every single morning, when I walk to school, I see a stampede of friend hordes snorting their way to there. Whenever it is a rainy, or snowy day, they call their moms so they can pick them up. I have no phone. I have no mom to pick me up.
Our school is called Laurence Jr. Public School. My mother always told us that one day, once we have enough money, my little sister and I would go to a private school. That private school is much closer than the school I go to now. And at least, I won’t get bullied anymore for how I am and look. At least I won’t feel like I’m worthless. At least I’ll have a better life. At least my sister won’t have to live a life like me… in fear.
My mother is a single mom, my father had been shot from the Japanese and America war almost two years ago. We had left Japan that night when he surrendered to the Americans. We travelled by boat all the way to Switzerland. We had to learn English with no help. We found our way by with no help.
We live in a garage, and pay rent every few months. It has concrete floors, and a busted out old kitchen. The house owner gives us food, and helps us with surviving. He is a lonely old man, well at least after his wife died a few months ago. Our neighbours asks us how he is doing once in a while. Our neighbourhood is really pleasant and peaceful, and the people are very caring about everyone.
A few months later, my mom had made enough money for my sister and I to attend private school. Unfortunately, when my mom had finally achieved a bank account, we had been robbed. Our house owner had heard, and put $2,000 on the doorstep. My mother had refused the kind gesture, but he insisted for her to keep it.
A few months after, my sister and I were well knowledgeable and our life was amazing again! Well at least we had thought… on a Tuesday afternoon… “Phewww” we scattered out of the area and had eventually realized that a bomb had been planted. Our neighbours and house owner had attended us in shock. “BOOM!” It sounded like a pack of lions roaring so loud that the whole town had heard. Our whole garage was crushed and crumbled down, we lost our home. When everyone left, our house owner invited us to stay in his real house until our garage was fixed. At least we thought. He told us that we had to had to inside until we had enough money to buy a whole new house.
We had found out that the man’s name was Alex Jones, but he told us to call him Mr. Jones. We moved to Australia; where there was peace. My sister, mother, Mr. Jones, and I were safe area, and together. He felt like family to us, and so we were to him. The house filled with laughter and happiness, like it used to be with my father around. This was our meaning of home!