Branches Book

BRANCHES

neighbors seemed relaxing. It was calm and quiet. I was satisfied. However, with the sound of the group leader’s voice, my rest was abruptly stopped. “Amelia, get on the truck and help us unload!” he yelled. It was time for me to work. I approached the men, and they provided me with the task of carrying sand bags to the room. Subsequently, I lifted them off, placing them carefully next to my doorstep. “You can now go inside,” they said. I opened the doors slowly, moved my sand bags, and sat down on the couch in the living room. Right away, I had to learn how to fill them up correctly. I would have to collect the sand myself, but for now, I could practice with the materials that had been available. Over the next few days, I greatly improved on packing sandbags. I filled them quickly, and I was ready to go outside my apartment. I simply needed the correct time. On the first windy night, I tightly curled my hair and quietly crawled out of my room. Amelia, I thought, is quietly leaving once again. I found a spot in the hall of the apartment building, sat down, and took out my sandbag. Examining each grain carefully, I slowly began to fill the bag. The nearby waves and the rolling sand grains moved towards me, one after another. By sunrise, it was completed. The leaders praised me for my work. I spent many mornings in a similar way. Run to the sand, collect the grains, return to the apartment, and eat breakfast. Afternoon was a great time for sleeping, with the branches of sycamore trees sheltering my windows. Nighttime meant preparation, and morning was a call to go outside again. However, no matter the time, I felt serene. No longer did my home in Missouri or my travels across the country enter my mind. I was collected, determined to work, and certain that no one knew about my activities. Everything is well, I wrote in my diary. I am satisfied in my work. I fill up my sandbags quickly. The past night had been calmer, and now I spend more time relaxing. I am happy I left. I will not go back to Missouri. After a series of stormy nights, sand no longer grazed the doorsteps. I began to fall behind in my work. I had to go outside, but I couldn’t walk away from my apartment. The palm trees were still, and the police cars had been patrolling the beach. I saw someone open my door. “Where are the sand bags?” one of George’s friends said. “Why are you resting?” asked another. No matter how many times I explained the situation, they demanded for the sand to be collected by the next day. “You will complete your tasks or lose your apartment!” I realized that the group leader’s threat marked the end of my journey. I wasn’t going to find my parents after all.

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