This battered journal is a collection of loose pages in no particular order with that dates that extend over a century, they are torn, weathers, bloodied, and almost unreadable.

January 17, 1747

The voices scream in my head. Each one louder than the next. They demand my attention, my actions. I feel as if I am no longer in control. There is no sleep to bring reprieve, only endless hours of hunger and torment. I feel as if I am losing my mind. If only they could see me now, see what I have been brought to, they would not forgive me. I can not forgive myself. But I must chase the voices from my mind.

  

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an amazing bee work of art

March 16, 1763

I remember a time when writing my very thoughts was dangerous. Amusing how such ideals change. Now there is no one to remember that woman or her thoughts, for who cares the thoughts of a dead woman? It brings me solace, this confidant, these words on the page. Yet I live under no delusions that putting these words to page is safe. I shall burn these thoughts, these pages, without a second glance when the time comes.

  

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an amazing bee work of art

August 20, 1762

This new world is so different from the one I’ve always known. Yet at the same time there is a peace in the wilderness that has not changed. The plants and trees, even the weather is different, but it seems that nature is simply that.

I’ve not seen much of this land, but there is an odd feeling of freedom that has embraced me since I departed the ship. I no longer feel as if I must watch over my shoulder for my past. Almost as if this is a new beginning. A new beginning I fully intend to embrace.

  

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an amazing bee work of art