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JWalker2406

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Tired and starving a twelve-year-old boy sits in his room with a pen in his hand. He taps it lightly on the paper in front on him. He is writing a letter to the President begging for him to help his family. He sits alone in his bedroom reminiscing about days when they really had no worries. When his dad had a job and was able to pay the bills on time. When they had food in the house, and his brother went to school. His sister could stay at home and take care of house chores. But not now, now there is unemployment everywhere. People are without jobs, money, food, and sometimes a house. Many desperately write letters to President Roosevelt and his wife, as well as other government officials. All pleading for them to help. And this boy is one of them, and he is tired of seeing his father cry. Five months is how long his father has been without a job. And without help it will soon turn into years, if their family makes it that far. They are scared to open the door, fearing that their landlord will kick them out on the streets.

His father has filled out numerous applications for relief, but they have yet to accept it. Their groceries have not been paid for three months. His older brother has not gone to school for two weeks because he does not have the money to get there. His twenty-year-old sister is out trying to get a job for herself too, but it is hard. No one wants to hire because they too, do not have the means to take on another employee. This boy who sits in his dimly lit room thinks about all these things as he prepares to write. He doesn’t even know if the President will respond or not, but that doesn’t give his hopes up.

Finishing the letter Fritz folds it into three. Sighing he presses his lips together placing the letter into the vanilla envelope. Licking it, he gathers his few cents he found by the dumpster to pay for it to be mailed. Placing his charcoal grey newspaper boy cap on his golden head he rushes out the door. Invisible to his shell of a father that whimpers in the rocking chair by the crackling fire. Life has been hard since The Great Depression started. And things were only to get worse until the poverty of the nation is solved. Fritz thought the way to help was to write letters to the President. This is the fifth one. He thought this is the one. The one that will be responded to, the one that will help his family get back on their feet again. Fritz thought this about all his letters. But still he never gave up hope. He would do whatever it took to try and bring hope. Bursting in to the frigid winter air he wraps his brown coat around his frail body. It is amazing how much energy he has with only eating rotten vegetables and molded bread. Hope is the only thing keeping him alive. Keeping him striving for another day.

His sea green eyes peer into the white ghost town. Familiar faces that stare blankly towards him, unfriendly. Stores that he once wrecked havoc in now hang a "closed" sign or "out of business". The streets that use to bustle with horses and carriages are only filled with snow now. His cheeks begin to be flushed from the winter wind lapping at his angelic skin. He wonders how long this brutal winter would stay this year. Gripping his hat’s brim he begins to walk faster as he spots the postal service. He wanted badly to be in another world. Pressing his face against the frosting glass he sees no one. Holding the handle the bell dings letting anyone who listens know a visitor has arrived. The smell was of candy, flowers, and new paper. His stomach gurgled silently as the candy smell lingers in his nose, teasing his stomach. Coming up to the desk he dings the bell. A voice yells from the office that he is coming. He waits eagerly. A bald man waddles towards him, a pleasant smile on his face. A smile of relief that someone still needs his assistance.

"Well hello young man." He says as he reaches his desk.

"Hey there sir!" Fritz waves placing the envelope on the desk, " I’m here to send a letter. A letter to the president!" he tells him in excitement. Even though this is his fifth time, he felt the need to say it. The old man just smiles, almost a pitying smile. Grabbing the crinkled envelope he holds out his hand for the 15 cents. Fritz spills the coins in his hand one of them sticking to his palm. "Sorry." He says as he peels it off. The man shakes his head as he divides the coins up into their little slots. "Thanks mister!" He calls back as her runs out the door.

Author's Note: Should I continue? Is it any good? I got the idea from a paper I had to write in college history. We had to  do an essay about The Great Depression and the only thing we had to rely on were letters that people wrote during that time to the president,etc. I chose the one written by the boy. I don't know how old he was when he wrote it and I don't know his name as he did not put. So yeah...Just let me know what you think!! THANKS!