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NumbThe initial shock has quite worn off,I've now been injected with pain.It's to keep me dormant, I've heard.Silent.To keep me from feeling anything else.~I've become quite accustomed to my daily dosage of anguish;After all, it was prescribed to me fifty-eight days ago.Despite this,One emotion still remains.It's not fear, sorrow, or misery;Those three form an undercurrent whose pull has become natural.~This one that persists - nagging, you could say -Resides in my chest, filling it,making my heart and head feel light.(side effects may include swelling)~Others cling to it. Some are inspired by it. It is a good feeling, hope. Then why does it hurt so bad?
The Way HomeFebruary 28th, 1846 The trail is bumpy. I sit in the back of the jostling wagon while Papa drives our meandering oxen, Eli and Benny. Despite the thumping, they are going slow enough for us to engage ourselves in quiet activity while Isaac naps. By “us”, I mean Bridget, Nate and me. There is not much to write about. Our wagon train has just started; we’ve been going for about two weeks now. There is an abundance of snow on the ground and the air is cold. Most everyone is subdued by the weather, which is making the earth very difficult for handcarts to travel. The wheels slip over the muddy slush and ice, jolting every once in a while. Luckily the road is level right now. I suppose I will describe to you my family. With the exception of my stubbornly average height, all of us children are moderately tall. Bridget was born a year after Nate; despite her golden hair and blue-gree
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