Day 3:
(South Carolina)
Sorry I couldn't write yesterday. I dropped a basket full of Cotten and Mr. Frinde whipped me. I couldn't even hold my pen and ink, I was so weak.
My back still stings. I had a long day in the fields today. It was horrible. It is mid-June and the sun couldn't get hotter. I wished that I could have torn off my clothes and no one would have judged, but sadly, I didn't.
As Mr. Frinde was making his hourly round, he purposely stomped on my foot. I almost cried it hurt so bad. My master, Mr. Greene, didn't get out of bed today. not even for breakfast, his favorite meal. I fear that if he passes away that we slaves would be sold or if Mr. Frinde takes full control of the plantation. I would run away if that happened, and that is crazy talk.
There isn't much to tell you about except that cotton is a pain. I hate picking it! I remember before I had the cotton gin. it was a nightmare to separate the seeds from the cotton. Now the gin does all the work.
I had better get to sleep, for I need to get up in the morning as soon as the sky starts to get lighter. Good-night.
-Edith
YOU ARE READING
Why I Ran
Historical FictionI hear hounds barking in the distance. They better not find where I hide. I am not going back to that retched place. Not ever again. The scars on my back say so. They are getting closer. I either have to run for it or trust that the hounds won't sme...
