Dear Sir Olaudah Equiano
Thursday 18th May 1801
It is cold and dirty. I cannot take this any more. The chains, the smell, the death and destruction, of people right in front of my eyes. Around me the air is thick with the smell of sickness. I cannot breathe one breath without choking on this misery. The sound of screaming people crying out for their families. It is unfair. All I can see is struggling. The struggling of people souls trying to escape this unbearable hell. Yes, hell on earth. Where is God in our time of need? I can feel the cold icy touch of the devil's hand on my shoulder. He has come to capture our sound and torture them until they die. Then we will become his toys. His dummies with whom he can manipulate into doing anything. Just like "them" those "things" up there. Not quite human. Just like us, but colourless and without feeling. Emotionless. So heartless that separating families is just like stirring tea. Simple, quick and easy. Watching a mother yell out in pain while her family is ripped from her, her heart breaking with each cry. Listening to her children shriek in agony as their mother is dragged kicking and screaming from their lives. For "those emotionless beings" that is as easy as breathing the air that surrounds us all. The air that once had the sweet scent of freedom. The air that once welcomes the precious gift of life. Gone.