October 29, 1929, the day of the most fatal revolting terror the United States will hope to ever endure. For me, it was just a loss of a father. For everyone else, to the ones who were old enough to care, it was the loss of everything they were. Money, houses, business', they all crashed. Rich or poor, you were done. Especially if you had a house you were renting out to the bank. Like us. The sight of people committing suicide by jumping out of buildings that day was just a normal, overlooked sight for everyone. My father was one of those suicidal men. He was very big in the industry and stock market. I guess the thought of giving up and killing himself would just make everything better. "A fool," was what my older brother Jacob called him. I didn't ever cry for the loss. I was just disappointed, very, very disappointed. Why wouldn'tI be? My father was my hero, I looked up to him, and he was the one that taught me courage, how to fight for what I believed in, to never give up, Suddenly, his words didn't seem so encouraging and empowering after he gave up himself.

June 27, 1932. The hot, dry wind whipped my tangled blonde hair across my dust caked face and back again. The scolding hot, impetuous sand felt like death to my small feet. My short hole-y dress with stains stunk like a dead animal. My torn, afflicted rag doll hung in my dirt infested hands. My shoulders hung loosely in defeat. You could taste the fear and depression in your mouth. My thin lips quivered and my blue eyes twitched. I never thought I'd see the sight before me. I stood about fifteen feet away from the shack that I, my mom and seven brothers and sisters lived in. I wasn't looking at the shack though; no, I was looking far out into the distance about three miles south. I lived outside a small town-Cairo, Nebraska- to be exact. In Nebraska you didn't have any mountains to hide the views before you, you could see miles and miles ahead of you, with nothing but trees to block your line of view. You could see the most beautiful sunset an artist could ever paint on one of those cool summer nights. Cairo was a town of about eight-hundred people. Friendly people who would wave and offer a bright smile at you as you walk the streets, even if they didn't know you. The town had history but it was clean and well kept up. It was known for its surplus vintage. Its cute little shops and yummy restaurants attracted the out of tower's. Kids would play on the quaint little playground after school. Mothers would drool over their new borns while the fathers would talk about the latest farming equipment coming out. To summarize it, the town was perfect for people who enjoyed peace and a friendly community. Unfortunately, this town that I described didn't seem to exit anymore. It dissolved with the wind. It looked like one large dust tornado gulped it up in one sweep. Nothing left but a couple of the larger buildings that seemed to fight for their lives just to stand upright. Who knows what happened to the people. If they all committed suicide, died of sickness, got kicked out of their houses and left, I don't know. Three years seemed to happen all so fast. Three years of fighting everyday just in order to feed ourselves. Three years of torturous weather that just seemed to make everyone feel miserable and empty.

"Caroline!"

I snapped back into reality at my little brother's beckon. I slowly turned around on my heals to face him.

"Mother wants you" He said shielding his tiny eyes from the arid whipping wind.

Sighing tiredly, I slowly limped to the shack. I opened the door and went in. My mom stood there seeming to stare off into some unknown space. Her bony face didn't move. Her grey eyes made it clear she had been crying. When she noticed I was present, she she seemed to be recollecting her thoughts.

"Carol, I thought I had asked you to sweep the dust from the floors? I feel like I'm walking on ant hills wherever I walk.." She said shoving her feet around all the corners gathering dust and exposing some cockroaches that were trying to take refuge in the shack away from the harsh summer.

She screamed in disgust and slid down the wall and curled up in a ball, covering her face with her bony hands and started sobbing again. Long sobs, that I've heard for almost every day since my mom's soul mate died. When he died, she went with him. She's never been the same again. I would do anything just to hear her laugh again. That sweet little giggle my father would make out of my mom.

I grabbed the broom, or what was left of it, and started sweeping the dirt and bugs away and back out the door. When I came back I saw my little brother Caleb gazing at my mom with a sad heart. This was too much for a poor five year old to handle. Wishing the rest of my brothers and sisters were home instead of looking for work and food, I held my brother in my arms and we watched my mom for what seemed like long hours.

A couple months later brought knocks and a bang to the door that beckoned my attention which I was finishing pealing potatoes for dinner. My older brothers and sisters were still gone and Caleb was outside with a neighbor boy. Not sure where my mother was at that point, I got up from where I was sitting and went to the door. I opened the wooden door that was only holding on with one latch. The men before me were very opposite in appearance. The first man was big and gruff with dark features and a dashing full head of hair. His tux with dirt all over it indicated they had come a long ways. His shoes were fully polished and his shoulders were broad and wide. His dark eyes searched me like I was some criminal. The man behind him was small and seemed to not have eaten much lately, his tall forehead contorted. His skinny hands held a clip board and the other hand held a classy pen. He too was wearing a tux, much neater however. His thin hair was caked with product so it would lay flat on his head, didn't seem to do much good anyways because he would continually flatten down his fly away hairs.

"We would like to see your parents. We have something to talk about them," The gruff man said pushing his way through the door.

I stood off to the side and let the men in. I was horrified and lost for words. What were these men doing here? The men went from room to room and then paused at the door of my mothers room. The expressions on their face's turned pale and looked worried. I ran over to their side to see what changed their expressions. What I saw before me didn't really surprise me, she was dying slowly anyways. My mother lay on her torn blankets wide eyed. Her color had drained from her face, her once soft gown hair turned silver grey. Her bones stuck out of her skin, and seemed to almost rip her skin away. You could barely tell she even had any lips. She was curled up on her blanket motionless. Even though I had expected this all too much I was still in very much shock. Yet I still didn't cry, I was sure there there were no tears left; the wind blew out my puddle of tears. Without even realizing it, I clung to the big mans legs. He patted my hair. I looked up and saw the skinny man write down stuff on his clipboard. He seemed to annotate everything that happened since they stepped foot in the shack. My whole world just finished crumbling. I had nothing left, nothing, My brothers and sisters seemed to run off and leave us because they never came back. With the big man's commands the small man skidded across the room and bent down to check my mamas pulse. The man nodded his head.

"Well that clears up that situation," The big man said turning away.

The small man jotted something down on his clipboard again. My head hung in surrender. I just wanted this to be over.

"How old are you little girl?" The big man asked.

"Nine," I said with a scratchy whisper.

The big man looked over at the small one with his eyebrows raised. The little one shrugged. They looked as though they were communicating silently to each other. Finally the big man ordered me to grab my things and come outside. I ran and grabbed Caleb who was standing outside hesitant to come in with strangers in the house. I decided I had nothing worth taking except my rag doll. My only friend that's stuck out through everything with me; she felt my last tears before my puddle dried up. The friend that let me throw her at the wall when I was mad, that saw my greatest moments and shared my happiest memories. I couldn't find her though. It started to concern me as I ran about the shack looking. Then in the corner of my eye I saw her black beaded eye look at me. I turned around and saw my beloved rag doll coiled up in my momma's arms. I knew if I had un-tangled her out of my momma's arms I would never think of my doll the same. I left. More, hurt, more pain, I wanted to die. I climbed up into the men's covered wagon with Caleb in my arms. The men seemed to be emotionless. With a quick whip we started off. That was the last I ever saw of the little old shack and my mom.