text: I race through the tumble down village in hope that I’ll be able to find some scrapes on the side of the road, or in the trash. There’s not much hope in my errand; any scrapes are usually already gone by the time I get there. Everyone’s living the same way. I often like to dream of what the future will be like. Most of the time, It’s hard to imagine anything but the here and now. Mama is always disappointed when I come home empty handed, though she never says anything. She knows it’s not my fault. On my right is the town square, or the remains of it anyhow. You can’t call it that anymore, it just reminds us of the hopelessness of our circumstances. I see all the men, woman and children in our little dingy village gathered together, collecting scrapes. There’ll be nothing left for me. Off to my left veers a shady dank alleyway, it’s shadowed in darkness, but I can tell nobody’s there. I turn into the alleyway and feel around for any remains of food that may be hiding. My hand comes across something stingy and slimy, I don’t hesitate to pick it up. Any food is good food nowadays. >>>> I race back through the dismantled village with a smile on my grubby face. Mama will be happy again, I thought as I entered the tiny shanty I called home. My seven younger siblings all raced to greet me at the entrance of the shanty. We can’t call it a door, a door isn’t a filthy used-to-be-white sheet guarding the entrance. When Mama came towards me, I showed her the unidentifiable food item I had found. Mama hadn’t laughed since the start of the Great Depression, as people called it. I didn’t know what depression meant, but it couldn’t be good if it was used to describe our life. I hadn’t know any other life, I came into a world of poverty, and I expected I was to leave it like this too. When Mama laughed, it made all of us laugh to. Her warm smile would break through her tired worn face and fill the room with happiness. As I showed Mama the food I found, I watched her as her face again broke out into that happy smile, and her bubbly laughter seemed to turn the old shanty into a palace, just for that happy moment. “Titus dear! you are a true hero!” I always liked it when Mama called me a hero. It made me feel all warm inside, a kind of fluttery feeling. I smiled back at Mama. “Are you happy Mama?” I asked. Mama took me in her arms and murmured softly in my ear. “Yes Titus, I am.” We celebrated together and feasted on my find. That was the best night of my life, it was a shame that in the present world, happiness never lasts. >>>> I woke up that night to Mama coughing. She was propped up against the wall and was breathing heavily. “Mama!” I cried, “Mama, are you okay?” Mama sneezed and wiped her eyes. “Yes Titus, I’m okay-” Mama never did finish her sentence. She started coughing hysterically. I tried to help her, but she was shaking too much. Her forehead was burning and she was dripping with sweat. All of a sudden she went still, and I was able to grab hold of her. “Mama!” I cried again. No answer. “Mama! Answer me!” No answer. “Mama! Please!” Still no answer. “Mama...” I wept then. For my Mama, for the Papa I barely knew. For the cruelty and injustice of life. >>>> The next day promised signs of a better day, and I almost believed it -But then I remembered. I was a ten year old boy who was doomed to look after his seven younger siblings. I had no Mama, no Papa, only the will to survive -though I wasn’t sure I even had that anymore. I wasn’t sure of anything now. Everyday was just like the next, and the next was just like the one before it. I was somehow trapped in the middle of sadness and grief towards the past, and bitterness towards the future. There was no way back, and the way forward didn’t seem as hopeful as I’d once believed. Where did my Mama go? I wanted her, needed her loving embrace and words of wisdom. But my Mama would never speak again. Not to me, not to anyone. My siblings, unlike me, hadn’t shed a tear for our beloved Mama. They were too young to understand. I sent them out, one by one, to collect food, all except the baby of course. I didn’t know what to do with the baby. All of my sisters came back empty handed, and my brothers with scraps and bruises. We were all fighting to survive. >>>> It soon came apparent that the baby wasn’t very well. She began spluttering, sneezing and coughing like Mama had. My sisters were always yelling at me to do something to make her better, but I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t make Mama better. “I don’t have no experience with babies!” I cried again and again. My sisters never stopped yelling and the baby never stopping coughing. Until she did. I woke again one morning, surprised but pleased that the baby had stopping crying. It was all silent. Too silent, I thought as I rushed towards the motionless lump in the corner. I was too late. The baby was gone, and I knew it. My life was just a graveyard of buried hopes. >>>> We were struggling more than we had when Mama was alive. The shanty was crumbling away bit by bit, leaving wide gaps in the walls and ceiling. There was no food. Hadn’t been for weeks. We’d last eaten three weeks ago, one of my brothers had caught a fox, but not without losing a finger. The stump where his finger had been was getting infected, and I knew it wouldn’t be too long until he followed in Mama and the baby’s footsteps. The next day, I again wake to silence. My siblings were gathered around my brother shedding silent tears. So they’d finally learnt to cry, I thought as I too wept for my brother. >>>> It had been about a few years now since Mama had died, everyday had been the same and nobody counted the days anymore, but we knew it had been a long time. By now only three of my siblings remained. My life wasn’t by any means happier, but it was easier now with less people to care for. It was selfish of me to think this way, but I couldn’t avoid the truth. We got by, day by day, night by night, and we were all doing fine. Our daily routine was our life, and our life was our daily routine. Survive. It was a very hard task to achieve, but somehow the four of us managed. I walked into the old alleyway with my siblings to collect food, as we did everyday. We were never alone anymore, though that hardly made a difference. There wasn’t enough food there anyway. We returned home again, empty handed, to the old, dry land where the shanty had once stood. It was all in ruins now, but we were content just living on the street. I knew I should get a job somewhere, but the grownups were finding it hard these days, nobody would employ a twelve year old boy now. >>>> Sunlight shone from the sky and gently aroused us from our slumber. The fog had lifted and people were cheering. I followed the sound and ended up in the town square. There was a man addressing them, and I strained to hear what he was saying. I hadn’t really heard anyone speak in a while, or spoken myself. There was the occasional ‘found any food yet?,’ or if we were in a bad mood, ‘give me that, it’s mine!” But other than that, we lived a rather silent life. “... I have everything ready, The Great Depression will breathe its last!” I heard the man, President Roosevelt, as that’s what people were calling him, saying. People cheered and threw their few belongings in the air. I raced back to the place the shanty had stood and my siblings queried about my joyful expression. “What’s happened?” They asked me. I smiled happily at them. “Our life is about to change for the better,” I said. They looked confused, “What makes you say that?” I looked up at the sky and laughed at the glorious sun. “Just a feeling,” I say.