The purpose of this blog is for you to understand my life and struggle as a slave. Here I will recollect my childhood, my coming of age, and hopefully of my escape from the conditions that I have been born into.
I write to you from a room in which I am hiding out. My motive for doing this was to protect and someday free my children and myself from my master James Norcom, or whom I like to call Dr. Flint.
I hardly knew that I was a slave until my first six happy years of life had passed away. My father was a skilled carpenter and both him and my mother were dignified and God fearing. I was six when my mother died. She died respected for she had lived a noble life and some say she had only been a slave by name. Shortly following my father died also, and my little brother and myself were left in the care of my mothers mistress. Those fleeting days with her were brimmed to the top with happiness. When I turned twelve she died. This is when for the first time I was old enough to understand that my prayers had not been answered. I was weary as to my fate which was dangling by chance as I awaited a answer for the future at my grandmother's house. My friends all assured me that freedom was knocking on my door. I could have never predicted, yet alone comprehended the things to come, and how far freedom was from even realizing that I was a slave.
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