Rough, chicken-scratch writing covers a page of a poorly constructed, slightly singed journal, along with a host of crossed out words and spelling errors. The page reads:
I’m so sick of all of this. He has no right to tell me where to be or how to spend my money when I’m the only functioning adult in this entire family. I’m so sick of being used by the lot of them. He might be my father but they’re not my family. I owe them nothing but it isn’t like I can just leave, is it? I’m barely even a daughter to him anymore. He says its a lie but there’s no other reason for the way things are. He is greedy and hapless and wants the world to be handed to him but that isn’t the way things work, not here. Not if I have any say in the matter.
- Early shift tomorrow. Apple crates should be arriving.
- Still need to fetch straw.
- Olgat sold me out to Da. Find a new place to hide out.
