September 25th, 1882
I'm alone.
I woke up and went downstairs to put a pot on. I made some toast with butter and brought it up to my mother's room. I knocked lightly hoping to not wake her as I entered. I put the food down on the bedside table and looked over at mother, she looked peaceful. I gently shook her to let her know I dropped some food off for her. She didn't move or groan like she usually does.
I'm alone.
I took the sheets off her to find her covered in blood. She slit her wrist with my father's razor blade. She did it like she said she was going to the other night. I didn't know what to do so I ran to the woods, I cried for a while and then went back home.
Goodnight.
YOU ARE READING
The Journal Of Martlina 1882
FantasyThe Journal of a young woman living in 1882, when writing and reading were just granted to women. When a man runs the world and a woman just lives in it. A story about finding love, war, and balance just to survive.
