by Peter Cortes
As I begin to tell this story, everyone I know is either broke or dead. My dad got sick with all the dust in his lungs and died. My mom is depressed and my little sister always cries for my dad.
We were so broke I couldn't go to school. My mom watched my little sister while I worked at a lemonade stand with my friends. I made enough money for us to get three pieces of bread.
New York was very dark and sad. We all got so skinny you can see our bones. One day my sister wouldn't wake up and she died by starvation. We buried her next to our old house. All my friends moved to California and it was all over for me and my mom. We sold my sister's stuff even if my mom didn't want to but we didn't have a choice.
My mom got really sick and couldn't work so I stole a wheelchair. I knew that it wasn't right but I didn't have enough money.
My 13th and 14th birthday went by and I didn't have a party, cake, or any presents. On my 15th birthday, it was finally over. But right after everything was getting really good, my mom died. I was transferred to a foster home, and now I was literally all alone.
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