Joan, oh Joan

So, when school was still in, I had to write a story about the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression. So, I went to my old google classroom to find it. I don't think it's very good, but people who like stuff based on history and stuff might like it, so here you go.
It was 1934. My mother told me to quickly run to the well to gather water before another dust storm hit. My father and brother were trying to secure the cattle and the farms as much as possible. I entered through the back farm where my brother, Robert, and my father were securing the doors as much as possible. I set my 3rd pale in the back like my father instructed me to.
“Betty,” my father told me. “That’s enough water in here. Get some water for inside the house."
I nodded and said, “Yes father.” I did a couple more trips, bringing water inside. My little sister, Joan, was begging my mother to help us. My mother kept telling her ‘no’ because her horrible asthma could hurt her.
“Joan,” I said. “Trust me, it’s boring. Maybe you can help mom prepare dinner.”
“But that’s boringgggg!” Joan complained.
“Joan,” mother said sternly. “You cannot run around and do those chores. You could get hurt. The dust storm is growing closer anyways, and they’re almost done.”
Joan grumbled under her breath and sat on the couch angrily. I pat my sister’s shoulder saying, “Trust me, I’d rather stay inside and not do this.” I wasn’t lying. I WOULD much prefer staying inside cooking. I was a pretty good cook and I actually like doing it.
“Betty,” my mother said. “We have enough water now. Go help your father take care of the animals. And quickly!”
I nodded and ran off. I entered back through the farm and poured some water into the cows holders. I quickly collected some eggs as well. My brother, Robert, came over and said, “The storm’s getting closer! C’mon, we gotta get back inside!”
I nod and my dad grabbed my hand to help me rush back inside. Once we got inside, we locked the door tightly. My brother and I collapse onto the couch next to a grouchy Joan. My father went to go see how mother was doing.
Joan looked at us and said, “How was it, y’know, actually getting to DO stuff?”
Robert looked at Joan and said, “It’s not as fun as you think it is. It’s stressful more than anything.”
Joan grumbled something like, “Ya right,” before walking to her room.
Father walked up to us and said, “She’ll realize that she’s still important in doing these chores. She’s still young. Give her some time.”
“How much time though?” I asked. “We’ve given her so much of it and yet, she still thinks we’re purposely leaving her out because we think she’s useless or something.
“Betty,” father said. “You're the most patient of any of my kids. Please, just give it some time.”
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Reluctantly, I nodded. When dinner was ready, I heard a howl of the dust storm. Nervously, I open the curtains. It was horrible. I felt like I was about to throw up because my stomach jerked from the sight. I immediately closed the curtains.
I walked to Joan’s room and knocked on the door and said, “Joan, dinner’s ready.”
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“I’m not hungry!” she shouted from her room.
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I walked to the table to eat my dinner, but I wasn’t hungry either. When I finished I went to bed, hoping the storm would end in the morning.
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In the early morning, I heard a shriek come from Joan’s room. I pulled myself out of bed and ran into her room where I saw Robert, mother, and father all standing there. Joan’s window had been opened and now dust was covering the floor of the rooms everywhere.
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“Where’s Joan?” I asked, feeling panicked.
“We don’t know!” Robert shouted.
I saw that the dust storm was over. Father ran outside, everyone following behind him. And then we found it. We saw that the farm gates had been opened and we saw Joan, just…. Laying there.. In the grass… motionless.
We all dropped to our knees except me, who was standing motionless. My legs refused to move. I was as stiff as a statue. It all clicked in my mind. Joan must’ve seen that the farm doors were forced open by the storm through her window. She must’ve snuck out to try and close it. But, her asthma got the better of her. I wanted to cry, but nothing came out. Instead, I whispered, “Joan, oh, Joan.”
Category:Literature
Category:Original Stories
Category:Original Stories (Finished)
Category:Realistic Fiction
Category:74's Work