I remember Animal Farm
This is maybe relevant, maybe not, but I just remembered the first time I read Animal Farm, by George Orwell.
I was 13, and I was having one of the worst years of my life (back then). My mother and I were homeless, which meant we were trash to basically everyone who knew or found out. It meant we were less-than-human to certain government agencies, in particular. This also meant that, because we were kind of living between her friend’s house and a shelter, that she wanted to send me up to my grandparents so that I could have a ‘fun’ summer instead of a stressful summer. The thought was nice, and I did have more fun up in the middle of the woods than I did when I returned ‘home’, with the cockroaches and the bloody knife I found hidden above the bathroom mirror of our shelter room. I was still stressed, though. Really stressed. Stressed and kind of bored, because there wasn’t anything I could do about the situation, and neither of my grandparents had a lot of money, themselves, and we were all basically trying to pretend this wasn’t happening.