HPA and GSMS Grade Eight LA
Escape
The blazing hot sun filled the air where Sanjay had been assigned. Chalky dirt and sand filled his
lungs causing him to cough every few seconds. His disturbing cough brought attention to him.
The guards came rushing over and asked him why he was there. Sanjay hesitated. He knew he
wasn't allowed to say why.
Sanjay shoved the guard and bolted. He ran through people's backyards. They were old and filthy just like he thought they would be. They yelled and said to get off their property, but Sanjay just kept running. He came up to a grey metal fence and found an old dirty plastic chair. He used the chair to start climbing the towering fence, but it was too late.
Communal
Beneath my apartment building is a tiny strip of dirt affectionately and humorously referred to by the tenants as a ‘communal garden’. There are a few short, neat, orderly rows of leafy green vegetables, regularly guarded over by Mrs. Brown, my neighbor. One blistering sunny afternoon I saw Mrs. Brown outside pulling carrots from her plot. She is often in the garden, like a living scarecrow to fend off the other tenants who might consider the ‘communal’ as a granted right to some of the vegetables. She is a wary old guard: her skin is dark and deeply wrinkled from hours in the sun, and she moves slowly to pull up each carrot with practiced skill. After each, she used the hose to wash them carefully, admiring them like a fisherman admires his catch. She certainly enjoys gardening. When I saw her that day, her face was flushed with heat and her collar ringed in sweat; I could see she was hot and tired after a few minutes in the unrelenting sun. At one point she took a long, gulping drink from the hose. She was obviously thirsty. Suddenly a car pulled up and her three grandchildren came tumbling out like a circus act. Mrs. Brown was really surprised to see them. She dropped the hose and hopped over the rows of greens to meet them. The children must have been hungry; they stormed past the old sentry like a marauding Mongol hoard devouring the carefully picked and washed carrots in a matter of moments. From the size of Mrs. Brown’s smile, she had happily accepted her defeat.