Traumatic Times

The industrial revolution is all around me. Filled with hunger, torture and suffering. One day I hope to escape from this hell. My name is Erin and this is my story.

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3. The Escape

A few weeks later I was a complete wreck. My back was hunched and my head lay low. So late that night, when not a sound was heard, I crept out of my straw-filled blanket and all that was heard was the quiet padding of my dirty bare-feet.

As I walked towards the hole in the wall, where a regular draft was always noticed, my dress got caught on a stray nail. I tugged and tugged but it wouldn’t come free. It felt as though I was being dragged towards the floorboards. Looking around for something to break free, I came across a small piece of metal shimmering in the moonlight.

I grabbed it and started hacking away at my moth-bitten rags. A few seconds later I stumbled away from the now cloth-covered floorboards and ran towards my only exit. As I stooped low, I could feel my back crack from the pressure and tension that had gotten on top of me. When I had escaped from the hell-hole that was my home, I ran.

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