Stolen, taken without permission.  That is what happened to my suitcase. It was stolen in the beautifully warm city of Miami. It happened at the end of the summer about 6 years ago.

School had just let out for the summer and I began making plans. I decided on going to South Carolina with my uncle, while my sister decided on going with our dad to Pennsylvania. This would be the first time we spent a summer apart. Before we went our separate ways we threw out all of our old summer clothes and went shopping for new ones. This wasn’t any kind of shopping. We went on a shopping spree kind of shopping, going into the stores and buying clothes from almost every one of them. During the summer I didn’t get a chance to wear all of them due to me staying in the house most of the summer helping my aunt with her kids, swimming and taking some sort of karate class.

As the summer comes to an end, my dad decides he wants to take a road trip to Miami to see some of our family. An as you can image the ride from South Carolina to Miami was long, tiring and exhausting. Once we got there another uncle of mine said that his recently purchased Louis Vuitton book bag was stolen. I didn’t think too much about it then. That is until the day we left Miami.

Before we left Miami we gathered at a cousin’s house for breakfast. We began gathering our luggage for the trip ahead. I put my suitcase by the trunk of my uncle’s car, so that someone could put it in for me. I walk into the house and have breakfast after letting someone know I put the bag by the trunk. As we leave my cousin’s house we decide that we wanted to go to the Flea Market before we left the city. We spend hours there, especially since my cousin decides she wants to get her first tattoo while we are there. She screams from pain after about an hour or so. Eventually we leave the flea market and open the trunk to put our bags in. As I throw my bag in the trunk I realize my suitcase isn’t in the trunk. I began crying and hyperventilating. One reason being my grandmother recently died and I had a picture of her in there and the other because all of my clothes are gone. We drive back to my cousin’s house, the one where we had breakfast. We asked if they’ve seen it. No one knows where it. We look for a god 30 minutes and we eventually come to the conclusion that maybe someone took it from either the side of the car or while we were at the flea market. So I left Miami suitcaseless, picturelesss, and clothesless.