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A Short Story : A Story?

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It was a day like any other. The sun had barely started to creep over the horizon letting few rays escape to illuminate our home. “wake up Moïse,” my mother said as she tapped me on my shoulder “there’s some water boiling downstairs so go add some cold water to it take a shower and…” my 10-year-old and barely awake mind could barely process the situation I was in and what was even happening. “Ok” I groan itching my eyes hoping the agitation might signal them to open. “Also wake up Matthew” she yelled as she walked out of our room. “Hey Matthew wake Up” unlike my mother’s soft touch, I shook him quite violently. He was a way heavier sleeper than I was. “hmm hmm,” he groans. He started to stretch covering as much of the luxuriously small bed we shared as possible. I left the room following my mother’s instruction. Even though you would expect it to be warm in a tropical country such as Haïti. In the early month of January, the opposite held true especially up in the mountains where we lived. the greeting of a warm shower was always preferred over the slap of a cold one. This made me even more careful as I carried a load of boiling water from the kitchen and down what used to be a short walkway that usually only took me a half a minute to traverse. But now it became as if I was tight rope walking in which I could easily trip and fall in the lava down below. This short hallway stood between me having a warm shower or probably a scaldingly hot

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