Life here is unhygienic. Poor living conditions and we are treated like rats down in the sewers. They’re expecting us to work for low prices, and it’s not enough to get food on the table for a family of four.
We are stuck in poverty and every time we get money, the rich gets more for literally almost doing nothing.
I am thankful I have managed to get a promotion to the middle section, where I’m earning decent wages. Elizabeth, my wife can’t work at the moment because we are expecting a new born on the way. So that means, hope for a better future is on me. Working down in the coal mines isn’t truthfully that bad now; I’m used to the dirt getting in my nails, poor food and luxuries.
People expect us to get things done in a short limited amount of time, and if we didn’t get it done we’d either get the sack, lynched, or quartered barbarically- in public.
It happened today, a few royal guards dressed in navy blue uniforms halted me on my way to work, making me watch a woman who was accused of being a witch. I overheard that the king requested her to be burnt at the stake in public. But that was for a different matter.
My childhood had been a little like that, I grew up in a strict household but again, I was in the third class as my father was disabled and marginalised- meaning, he didn’t get enough as we were supposed to. He couldn’t work so he had been idle, and he was caught twice, it was a three warning policy we had.
The first time we’d just get a scolding, and the second time we’d be punished. His punishment was to be publicly shamed by a royal, as well as whipped. I remembered him coming home in nothing but his undergarments and open, fresh deep slashes around his back. The third time was death; he was disabled and couldn’t do any work though. He was hung in the time square, my mother was upfront, strapped to the chair in the centre, and she was made to look at my father because she had supposedly married a failed experiment in mutation and evolution… after that, my mother dared not to even go out of the house. She grew into depression, and isolated herself from my siblings and myself. I had been the one who kept up the family spirit, raised them, as I was the eldest, and educated them.
Elizabeth, darling Elizabeth is sick.
I can’t bear to watch her to go through with this excruciating disease that is pretty much incurable. The doctor stated that they wouldn’t be able to save her, but there is a chance of saving the child.
Oh, I just want her out of her misery.
I received a letter today, but I am tempted to know what it is as it’s by the royals. It’s a velvet red letter, in perfect calligraphy neat writing using a feather quill.
I’ve tucked it underneath my pillow as I’ve sworn to Elizabeth I’ll never accept anything from the royals.
But I am tempted to.