Clara's Reflection

Breathing…to some this task is not even noticed, but every time I breathe needles scrape the inside of my lungs. The filthy damp air only prolongs the torture of the ripping of my chest. I hate coughing; it only makes the pain worse. I wish there was a way to remove the blood and tissues without coughing, but I know there is no hope. It is inevitable; this illness will devour my energy, my will, and my life. Until then though, I live on, making the most of each day. Today, I awoke with little sleep, pinned my hair back, and ate what little food I could scramble up. I was fortunate. One of the boarders had a strawberry. Oh how I love strawberries. It is not often that I am able to indulge in such pleasure, but today was different. The girls and I spoke once again of the cruelty of the shirt waste factory. If there was anything that I could do to change the way the world was…well I want to say that I would grasp that opportunity with my head held high, boldly. But the truth of the matter was, was that I’m so scared of this city. New York isn’t the land of the free, the land of equality, the land of justice. No. This was the land of bitterness, disappointment, and darkness. Every once in a while, some days, days like today, days when optimism fills my soul. Anya talked about a strike.. This was the train I had been so ready to aboard, but I was unsure. The things that I would be sacrificing such as my job, my family’s reputation, or even my sanity (which honestly I felt I lost long ago when we, my father and I, moved to this country in hope of getting away from the crime in France.). Nothing is different here. The homes are the same, except now we have to house strangers. Today is a day of goodness though. I think the angels picked today to smile upon, because I said that I would take part in what would be the most revolutionary act of the time. I would be apart of saving the working conditions for not only my children, but generations to come. I bled and died on the picket line, and I starved in the fresh air. I am someone’s hero. I am a simple French girl who helped changed the world.