A Traveler's Journal

March 5th, 1809 - Arcona

The sun began to shine through the window on the eastern wall, when I realized that the feline menace that was my cat, had managed to find its way onto my bed during the night, so when I opened my eyes, all I could see was burnt orange-brown fur irritating my eyes. I promptly lifted her off of my face, and set her on the sliver of bed beside me, when she screeched a high pitched tone in my ear. Perhaps to signify how very, unmistakably angry she was with me for never giving her a name, or simply the fact that I had ruined her slumber. She pounced on me once again, then leaped from the bed and scurried off through the doorway and down the unlit hall. The fact is however, a rude cat like that doesn't deserve a name. Poor kitty, life is so tough.

I slowly sat upright, although the warm blankets begged me to stay. Swinging my legs to the side, I slipped on my shoes and began to gather my clothes and small, various belongings from the chest at the end of my bed, placing them neatly into a small, leather trunk that I inherited from my father. Starting with the neatly folded clothing at the bottom, and smaller keepsakes and trinkets I had acquired over the years, carefully placed atop, the trunk only grew in size, swallowing more and more of my past.

The only family I still have is my aging grandparents on my mother's side, who live in Paris. I never had the opportunity to meet them, considering they live so far away. Even though my parents passed away roughly five years ago, my grandparents refused to take me in until I turned 18.

I walked down the stairs of the Slattery Children's Home, where I had been living since 1805, for what was the last time. I scampered to the kitchen and searched for something to prepare. I eventually sat at the breakfast table in the parlor, alone, for it was 5 o' clock in the morning, eating a helping of sausage and eggs, cold, as they were prepared last night, covered with a breadcloth, and placed in the icebox. I washed my dishes and replaced them to the cabinet, in order to save Madame Slattery the trouble.

My bicycle sat in the shed behind the orphanage, the last gift my parents ever gave me. I opened the door to the shed, only to find that my bicycle was drowning in spider webs. After finding a small twig to remove the cobwebs, my bicycle was returned to its former glory. I tied down my trunk above the rear wheel with a rope I found in the shed.

Pedaling down the dirt road, I passed many fields with flowers just beginning to bloom. It is March, and the fairly chilly breeze blew against my face, tiring my nose pink. Racing along, I hit a bump and my cap almost fell to the ground.

When I arrived at Arcona Train Station, I walked my bicycle over the wall, untied my trunk, and fixated it on the bench right next to me. A woman with a bright orange ribbon in her hair stood inside a glass ticket box. I reached into my pocket and handed her the exact change - no more, no less - for passage to Dublin. In exchange she handed me a small piece of paper with the words, "6:15, 3rd Class, Arcona to Dublin, 5A," scratched on with a dull pencil, barely readable.

After taking a seat on the bench beside my bicycle, I looked down to find a cat hair on my left leg. I picked it up, and blew it from my hand. I sat on that bench for no more than three minutes before my train arrived. Quickly grabbing my bicycle and trunk, I hopped onto the luggage car and the train attendant helped me find a spot for my things. I walked through 6 train cars to find the third class passenger cabin. I found my seat at 5A, according to the markings above the glass divider room door, which contained 2 benches and a window. I quietly sat and the train began to race along the tracks.