Every window on Farmer Michael’s house was shattered to pieces and the door handle was stained Malvao purple. It was deserted as if haunted. If the pickers used to live here, they probably wanted to be far from here after the harvest.

Our small farmworker’s house was still standing. No shattered window as they busted the door easily. I let out a sigh of relief.

Opening the cupboards, I found they were bare, except for a few herb shakers that lay on its side. Wasn’t worth taking, I guess. Thyme and oregano. The house itself was too empty. I missed seeing grandma sleeping in her rocking chair in the corner. My mother couldn’t escape Camp Allegan, she had Sadie to worry about. A black sheep like me still missed my family.

I opened the back door and dragged my feet across my small backyard. The carrot tops were dried but a quick yank on the small plant showed that I still had some food after all. They left my tubers. My eyes watered a bit at the sight.

I greedily grabbed some carrots, potatoes, and yams in a half-broken basket and went into our house.

At least some of the pots were there, not all of them were stolen. How considerate of the thieves and looters.

At a twist of a Malvao-stained knob, water flowed freely from the kitchen faucet. Great news, clear running water! Life in prison made me appreciate the little things. After all, the soldiers have to live here too right? Probably in the big houses? I drank from the faucet and hurried to wash the first vegetable.

While munching on a broken piece of carrot, I washed the rest of my root loot. I cut them and put them in a pot with water, some salt, and herbs to boil.

As my vegetable stew cooked, I went to check my old bedroom. I didn’t expect much, but I wanted to check if it was still good to sleep in.

My room was mostly intact. It still had four walls, a cupboard, and a bed. Almost everything else was gone, and my bed had the indentation of a far larger body in it. It smelled awful. This is modern-day Goldilocks, folks. Who’s been sleeping in my bed?