Old Photo
19th Century Paragraph
The year is 1893. I am 15 years old. Everyday, I wake up on the farm, do my chores, wash, eat, then take care of the children. I have to watch them because Mother is ill again. Father is rarely home, and when he is, he is in the back room, constantly planning the next big move. We move so much. I was born in the city, but moved from the other side of the tracks, to this farm. That is because Father got involved in the wrong crowd (again), made a few bets, lost, and we high tailed it out of there before anybody noticed. Or at least that's what we thought. Because it wasn't until we got here, to the farm, that we noticed photos of father around town. I feel as if we'e gonna leave again. It's been like this my whole life. How I dream to just live in once place, but it's never like that. Living with a criminal is never fun. The pictures always give us away.