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bemystoryWendla's not sure where she is at first. She remembers being ripped from her mama's arms, remembers the doctor's office and all its scary apparatuses, and—now?
She's in the middle of what appears to be a large Plaza, with people milling about, talking to each other, going about their daily lives.
The teenage girl steps forward towards a stranger, for a moment, about to speak, but she's shy, and thus withdraws, wringing her hands nervously. She's still in her nightgown, with a shawl around her neck that makes her look quite out of place and time—because she is, in a way.
Still, she sees the pamphlets strewn about, telling her about this place, and now she knows she has to say something, to ask something.
So Wendla gathers herself, and asks:
"Excuse me, I'm very hungry. Where can I find something to eat?"
She's in the middle of what appears to be a large Plaza, with people milling about, talking to each other, going about their daily lives.
The teenage girl steps forward towards a stranger, for a moment, about to speak, but she's shy, and thus withdraws, wringing her hands nervously. She's still in her nightgown, with a shawl around her neck that makes her look quite out of place and time—because she is, in a way.
Still, she sees the pamphlets strewn about, telling her about this place, and now she knows she has to say something, to ask something.
So Wendla gathers herself, and asks:
"Excuse me, I'm very hungry. Where can I find something to eat?"
