We get home. The wave destroyed our house. Our house had turned to matchsticks.
Nothing was left, nothing salvageable.
"What are we going to do?"
I ask Evan.
"I don't know"
we both stand there in shock.
"We should probably try to find a new home"
he says, and we walk slowly away from our old home.
We look for hours for somewhere to stay. A house, shed, tree house. But we are unsuccessful. When our family died, we were left with a small, yet functional house. It was better than sleeping on the ground, or in a tree.
We had wondered for hours, when we finally just decided to find temporary shelter, and try harder tomorrow.
I couldn't sleep that night. We made a make-shift bed out of leaves and moss. The leaved scratched my back, until it turned red, and I was freezing cold, trying to use my dad's flannel as a blanket, but the cold night air bites my cheek, and turns my breath to fog, that slowly floats away into the cold night. But as the night gets darker, and the stars shine brighter, Evan's arms are there to comfort me.
The next morning, we try to find shelter for the next day, but instead, try searching the other way. At this point, we're desperate. Anything would work.
We come upon a broken tree house. It seemed like a bad choice, but we go inside of it anyways.
The ladder shakes, and we don't quite know if it's strong enough.
I test it out, and try to throw a branch onto the platform. The tree house stays putt, so we go into the small tree house.
It was old, and nothing was inside, except an old chest.
Evan walks up to it, and opens it. He is lying cold on the floor, a small, skinny woman standing near him.