The Cyclone

As I look around all I see is people suffering with only the bare necessities to survive. It’s just me and my brother to fend for ourselves and we haven’t eaten since the cyclone. All we had was our mother because our father left our mom when he found out she was pregnant and pretends like we don’t exist. Our family was torn, but we didn’t care because we were happy just being together. The cyclone killed my mom. My older brother is trying to be strong for me but I can see how scared he is. We almost had enough money to be able to go to school but now Zachariah has to find a job to buy us food. I try to get money but people won’t hire me because I’m so young.

The air doesn’t have the same fresh feeling that it had before. Now it smells dirty and polluted and tastes like I am eating dirt from all the trauma that happened. I’m longing the taste of fresh fruit but all I taste is the sweat near my mouth about to drip off my face. I hear Zachariah, outside the torn shack we call our home, crying because the stress of being responsible for me is breaking him down and making him weak. Our shack has a mere 15 pieces of wood holding it up with no siding, so at night, when the wind is strong, we have to keep each other warm. We use to have steel sheet as our roof but the strong winds of the cyclone tore it off so now we’re vulnerable to the weather. This was the most difficult period of my life.