Sunday, 27 September 2015

It’s going to be a long winter

India poverty
Today was terrible but, then again, it was like every other day. Always the same. I was cold. I still am. My blanket has so many holes in it that the wind goes right through me. I swear I get a new hole in it every day and the blanket barely covers the top half of my body. People walk past, thinking I’ve run away from home. I can hear them muttering under their breath ‘serves her right’, but I haven’t had food in three days and the last piece I had was a half-eaten sandwich that someone threw at my face.

This morning I waited outside of the baker’s shop opposite, hoping that someone would take pity on me and maybe, just maybe, give me some food but I guess it will just have to stay a hope. Sometimes I dream about food, laid out on a table with a loving family surrounding me and a blazing fire behind me. I get hallucinations where I can hear my mothers voice and I call out to her but, like always, there is no one there. I think I’m dying sometimes because the hallucinations become so frequent. They drive me insane but they are the only happiness I can find in each day -my mum’s voice.

Across the street now I can see a group of friends with warm duffle coats huddled up on a bench holding a cup of hot chocolate. One of them can see me but immediately turns away awkwardly. They all do that. I wish someone would just acknowledge me instead of pretending I’m not there. My hands are now turning blue as I write. I think I am going to die. Maybe I should die. The world may be a better place without me.

One of the girls is looking up towards the sky. She then holds out her hand and a small drop of snow lands on her fingertips. Normal kids would be laughing or smiling at the joy of snow and presents, but all I can think is- it’s going to be a long winter.

Written as a Year 8 school homework 
HM. September 2015

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