Hannah

Hannah’s Monologue Ouch, the hard wooden floor hurts and the only warmth I’ve got is my hand sewn blanket I’m not even supposed to have. I was just thinking about my poor mother calling my name “Alexandra Cottonfield” over and over again. There’s my sister. Probably thinking about mother too. Oh no, I can hear the supervisor heavy steps. Whack. My sister is screaming in pain. It’s my 12th birthday and I want to tell you about my life. I snuck a story to help me. It says I was 5 when my mother sold me and my sister to the cotton mill and I have been working here ever since. I walk up and down the bobbin isles, tying broken threads and I have aching legs and fingers. Every night my sister comes home and falls onto the attic floor. It is horrible waking up at 3 o’clock and going to bed at ten thirty. Especially leaving my sister alone. We are both very cautious to not asleep at work like our mother. Rhode Islands is very different from Africa. If the supervisor ever hears us, we get the whip. If there are any threads broken at the end of the day, we get the whip. I am whipped most days, a lot of the time it’s because I’m thinking about mother or father. I’m not sure if he’s alive or not. Yesterday my roommate Mary disappeared. There was one thread broken in her isle. I felt hatred swelling inside me I wanted to kill Mr Thread. I wanted Mary back, I wanted my family back. Sometimes I imagine I’m at home with my family. Even the dreaded chores there seem like fun compared to this place. I can’t imagine how horrible it is for Elizabeth and the other 5 year olds After seven years or walking up and down the isles, the arch in my foot has broken down and is painful. My back hurts form being whipped and I don’t grow much because the windows are shut to keep the cotton damp. I one day hope to grow up strong and healthy. I want to be a doctor to help all the child labourers.