Creative Writing: One Flew Over The Cuckoo's

It was June 4, 1924, Wendy sat in her house playing with her old, torn up doll. She looked up her mom had made chicken for her and she sat there and ate it. Recently, she and her mother traveled to the closest town to get some more food to eat they traveled about 60 miles there and back, while her papa stayed home and worked on their farm. They enjoyed living in the peace and quiet of nowhere.
After Wendy finished eating, she got up to return the dish to the kitchen, then she looked outside after hearing a couple of high pitched whistles. It was pitch dark. She then realized what it was, in the horizon about 9,000 feet high she saw miles of dust and farm equipment hurdling for her.
“Mama, Papa!” She yelled. “It’s back, It’s coming!”
“Go grab some towels and wet it by putting it in under the faucet! You know the drill.” Her father yelled back.
Wendy always liked counting everything. Once she even counted how many noodles she had in her pasta. Wendy did what she was told and gave one to her father and mother. She then stuffed them in any crack of the entire house. Her family doesn’t want to jeopardize anything not after last year when her older brother, Mitch, died from dust pneumonia. They mourned his death they even made a gravestone for him. Unfortunately, it crumbled in the next storm that had happened. The wind was starting to pick up more, now. She swiftly put the towel over her mouth and nose. She didn’t want to suffocate from all the dust. Then, it was suddenly over. The winds died down and she quickly swiveled her head side to side to see her mama on the bed sitting patiently to make sure it was over. On the other side was her papa. His eyes were still closed, but she saw is chest move in and out, proving to her he was still alive. The he briskly opened his eyes and hugged Wendy and her mama so tight she might pass out from his warm