Father came home today, donning blue-purple rims under his eyes, marking the days of lost sleep do to his work. He came to visit me, sick and weak, a bed-ridden burden. He told me everything was going to be all right, that I would make it. This was something I could kick right in the rear, send it flying out the window like stool water. But I don't believe him. I'm dying. I have accepted the facts; I am afraid my family has not yet seen the univentable truth. May God have mercy on their soals.
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Mary's Diary
Historical FictionOkay, I've published this before, but I lost the paper and I just recently found it again and I just #cri Anyways, this is a project I had to do on child labor and what it was like, and I got 100 on it and yeah. Stuff. Enough with my chatter, just...
