The sun still shone as my mom gently nudged me awake. I was groggy from the disruption to what should have been a full night's sleep. "Put your shoes on and come outside," she said.
I slipped my little feet into my heavily scuffed and slightly-too-small black patent leather shoes. My ankle-length nightgown was worn and fraying where lace should have been, a sure sign that it was a hand-me-down from an older cousin. I couldn't have been more than maybe 7 or 8-years old at the time, so there was no need to put on more clothing before venturing into the tiny weed-filled yard.
As I slowly trudged through the weeds to the back of the trailer house where my mother stood waiting, a feeling of dread spread through my every pore. The flashing lights and the man in the Important Uniform hinted at what I was about to happen.
To continue reading and for a chance to win a $100 Visa Gift Card, go here.