IR museum Discriptive Journal

Dear Diary,

As my first journal entry, I’ll have to start with the beginning of my life. It wasn’t pleasant, but then again, it still isn’t…
Starting at the age of four, my child hood was tough and ruined. My father had passed away leaving me, my younger sister Sarah, and a sick mother behind to go on with our lives. My mother’s sickness only got worse and she was sent to the London hospital soon after my father’s death. The worst thing my sister and I needed was another family member passing away. We prayed, wishing God to let us have her back healthy. We didn’t pray hard enough. She only got worse, and her sickness was soon incurable. The hospital could only keep her in for a few more days! Or we would have to pay for more hospitality. I had no experience of making money just yet. The following week; she passed away, leaving me, a five year old, to take care of my younger sister, a two year old. We couldn’t afford to live the way we had used to live, and so I was forced to work, to be able to pay my bills. I would be taken to the country, fed well, paid well, and eat well. The government even said that my sister would be in a care home, and she would be treated just as well as I was. I was more than lucky, to work and get a reward for it, so I accepted the generous offer. Days later, a group of boys my age, and myself were taken out of the country and sent to an immense steel factory. The owner studied us with a close eye and soon enough, they scurried us away to work with machines we knew nothing about. We were not instructed on how to handle machines, but forced to, even then. When we made a wrong move, we were spat at. The rooms were hot, and dark. The work was exhausting and the nights were damp and cold. Working in steel mills was anything but generous. The owners were greedy and everything was for them. Pay days never seemed to arrive. New batches of young boys were brought into the country to suffer the same way like we did, and they were enlightened to have a perfect life planned ahead for them. Dinner was cucumber soup and nothing better. Around 20 boys were forced to sleep in a tiny room made out of stones and a small door which was locked to prevent escapes. I had flashbacks of my life with my family and sister. To only think that now, I am stuck in a stone room with boys I just met. I wished factories didn’t start, and us kids were not forced to work. Everyday, a child seemed to injure themselves terribly and wouldn’t be taken care of. Death was no issue. Everyday a new batch of boys was delivered thus, plenty of new workers ready to work themselves to bits. Sometimes molten rock burned poured on to us, and burnt us badly on our hands. Sometimes machines had poisonous explosions. And sometimes, they crashed on to us. If we didn’t get injured that way, we would get killed slowly. The coal dust hanging in the lungs, cause a lifelong disease. Years past by; and I managed to survive, even though, I had injured myself quite a few times, I took care of myself, with the help of my friends here and then. I never got to see my sister again, and I didn’t even know if she was out there, living. If what the government said was true, I doubted it. I was told to have a life of care and respect, and what I got was the opposite. Soon I made my way out. Children were they’re only productive workers because they fit well to crawl under the machines to fix them. Till now, and forever on, I’ll have terrible memories to look back to. And a future with a life disease.
-Patrick J.