I Dream My Way Out // An exercise from our English lesson, where the idea was to add an ending or beginning to a storypart. I chose the latter. And the subject was child labour. Yay. Took about an hour and a half, because we had a deadline. Yeah, it's crappy. Enjoy. Editet 2013-5-11 // They worked so hard for their living. I mean my Mum and Dad. They did everything for us; For me, my sister, my brother. It still wasn't enough. We were hungry and tired, we didn't go to school. All we had was our family. But we were happy. That feeling kept us going, alive. Until my Mum got sick. Then everything went wrong. Slowly and painfully. Dad was the only one who was able to work, because we children were so young. I was the eldest child, you see. Dad had to work alone for our food, for Mum's medicine, for our future. We all knew he wasn't able do it for long. Eventually, my Mum's condition became worse. At the same time my Dad started to act weirdly. He had his schedules changed, he worked only at night and the pay he got... It was enormous compared to his old pay! But Dad wasn't the same. He was suspicious, he never talked much and tried to avoid us. Once I accidentally heard my Dad to talk to my Mum, who was feeling much better already, thanks to my Dad's new job. I heard how Dad whispered: - I need to protect you, and this is the only way. Then he kissed my Mum's forehead and just left. He didn't come back. We regularly got money for our everyday living from Dad. He always sent a letter where he told how much he loved us and how he wished us a blessed #life. All of us children were finally able to go to school, we were hungry no more, my Mum was feeling much better and #life literally smiled. Then, one day, Mum received a letter from Dad, but this one was not a happy one. Mum started to pack our clothes, repeating the same words: - He got caught. He got caught! Now they are coming. My Mum told me that I should head for the local weaving mill with my siblings, because we were going to need food and a shelter to survive. I felt how a teardrop ran down my cheek. I knew Mum wasn't coming with us. Mum kissed our foreheads and when it was my turn, she whispered in my ear: - If you get into trouble, escape with your sister and brother and go to the great dead tree where we all used to celebrate our feasts. Dig under the tree and you will find a metallic box, which will solve all your problems. I nodded as an agreement and she smiled nervously. Then she hugged me and gave us our light backbags, which included some clothes, food and water. Before she said goodbye, she promised to come back for us. With Dad. That they both would come for us. We left, but we didn't look back. My sister asked me constantly when Mum would join us, but I didn't answer. I was too terrified to think about her and Dad, about everything. It all seemed to be too scary. I wanted to cry, but I simply couldn't. For my brother and sister's sake. Finally we reached our destination. The weaving mill. I had heard stories about it. Sad stories, unfortunately. I was sure that my Mum knew about those stories too, but she had no choice but to send us here. Or that is what I hoped for. We were out of food and we had to enter the weaving mill. It wasn't a warm welcome. I wasn't sure if our story would be one of those sad stories. Nowadays, I have to work really hard... // Yes, that was my part of the story. The ending from our book goes like this.. // ... because I have to find some way to get food for my little sister and brother. I eat whatever is left - and often there's nothing for me. The weaving mill doesn't pay me at all because I owe them for the bed. The oldest employee is 16, but everyone looks the same. We don't know how to smile. I rise before the sun every morning. There are no Sundays for us. At nightfall when I finally go to sleep, my eyes hurt and water. My little sister cuddles up next to me. We seek comfort in the closeness that we share. In my sleep I dream about Mum and Dad. Deep down in my heart, I know that they will come for us. Some day. // Absolutely hilarious subject ): // Comments? //