The Journal of Privvy: The Slave Girl

Day 1

Dear Journal,

Hello, i am Privvy, and i dont have a last name. It was taken away form me when i was sold, i cannot use it or say it anymore, my masters toke it away from me so i cannot find or track down my parents, for a pair of common Indian names it would be hard to find with out a last name. i think i forgot it. I bought this journal with the some of the meger coins i have left form my old life, i hide those coins in a small sack that is hidden behind a lose brick in my chambers. I will record everything that happns to me in my short, miserable slav life. Yes i am a slave, dont look to surprised what do you think i meant by 'my masters'? I am a common slave in the weaving factory in. I am only allowed to go to the market once a month, and i am strictly restricted to my grey, metal chambers and my working place whihc is just a small, uncomfortable desk with miniature chair in a metal, stuffy room filled with a hundered other child workers. I am payed with on loaf of bread per month and a half, thats enough for me, i only need one little piece of bread everyday. When the bread soaks my tongue with its dry stale taste i feel more alive than i ever have, i chew it until the bread is reduced to just a mushy wet paste in the mouth. Then i let it sit there and swallow bit by bit to savor it as if that tiny piece of bread is a full meal. This journal will document everything that happens in my life, i will not leave anything out. I will write everything that happens with this thin piece of sharpened charcol i am writing with.

Today is a Sunday. On Sundays we're only to do work for eight hours, compared to the none stop twelve hours we're supposed to work this is a relief, i woke up early and climbed out of my stony cold bed and neatly folded my thin ripped blanket, then set it on the bed. It was around five am, and i started weaving in the work room. There were only ten other childrens there, which is rare because a lot of people work early to get to church. Not the church in the village, our masters made a special church in the factory so we have even less time to escape. I sat down and started weaving a white wedding sari. I set out my supplies: a giant bundle of white silk thread and a small bundle of thin golden treads. The golden tread shined brightly in the dim light, and for once in my work i smiled softly at the thread. I weaved ith my skilled hands the white thread and once every twenty or so lines, i made the golden thread zig zag in a pretty patteren. My fingers soon started to work on auto pilit, automaticly threading adn weaving in and out, in and out, i threaded the golden patterns with precisoun. i could close my eyes if i wanted to and sleep and my hands would still weave this sari perfectly. Hours pasted by and soon time seemed to slip from my fingers just like the thread. I finished the sari in seven hours, and decided to add a scarf with a golden border, i finished in and hour. And then the guard who timed and watched me as i worked, nodded at me wrote down how long i had worked and left. I put away the remaining white thread in my organized box. I toke the tiny remaining bundle of golden thread that was the size of small pebble, but had the wealth of a a chest of spices. I stated at the bundle and squeezed my hand around it. This could buy me a whole truck load of food, it could get me out of here. I slightly tilted my head and looked left and right, my guard had left me the others were staring at their workers. I prayed to God for help, and stuffed the bundle of gold deep in my pocket, breathed in heavily and stood up, and started slowly walking toward the exit of the work room. I was almost there when a guard called "You there! STOP!" I stiffened up, my back straight and the hand in my pocket clutched the golden bundle tighter as it became sweaty. He can to face me and said "YOU! you have to go to church now! you can't just leave" he poked his gun at me and then i relised i was holding my breath the entire time and my throat was screaming for air. I breathed in and followed the guard, we walked down a long metal corridor, and we approched a large wooden door, the guard pushed the door open slowly, you could see sweat running down his forhead from the heat and efort to open the heavy door. W