Hello, Amnesia fandom. Here's a little something I've been wanting to write for a while now. I want to start out by saying I love fanfics, but there is a serious lack of them in this fandom...at least, fanfics actually having to do with Amnesia. Why is almost everything on here a Pewdiepie fanfic? That's not Amnesia, people.

Anyway...needed to vent. If you feel the same way, PM me and we can rant together. For now, enjoy the story!

September 1828

Against my better judgment I've gone ahead and bought this journal. It wasn't too expensive, but we haven't much money and every bit counts.

However, I feel the need to preserve this small slice of history for fear it will be forgotten in time. I'm not sure if anyone cares about a poor boy and his sister, but I've learned in school that all of history is about putting together little pieces (documents, journals, etc.) like a puzzle. I hope this will become an important puzzle piece one day. I love history and think it is the most fascinating subject in all the world.

For the future reader, here's a bit about me: my name is Daniel, and I am ten years old. I have a sister named Hazel who is four. As I've already mentioned, we are quite poor and we live in Canterbury. Our father is an artisan who has a little shop down the street. As for our mother...well, she's not with us anymore. Although I suppose if I had a choice between this life and riches, I don't know what way I'd choose. Granted I could take Hazel with me, of course.

I'm very sorry if I am a poor writer. I really am. Don't change the way you think of our time if I am, for there are many good writers out there now.

Have I mentioned that I love reading as well as history? I know it isn't proper for someone as poor as me to enjoy such things as much as I do, but books provide a sort of friendship when there's none at school. I must admit that I'm not quite as...burly as the other boys and I'm somewhat small for my age. I'm often behind in school because I sometimes have to skip school to keep my job at the cotton mill.

Were it my choice I'd quit. But I mustn't give it up: Hazel needs me to make the money since she's too ill to work and Father spends most of his earnings on...other things. It's not the greatest life, I suppose, but we manage.

I find that books provide comfort when nothing else can. Hazel, too, is partial to them since she's not able to be as active as other children her age. She's too young to read yet, but enjoys it immensely when I share a tale or two with her.

Spent most of the evening helping out Father at his workshop. His crafts range from pottery to painting to woodworking, and I am constantly angered by the patience required to do the jobs correctly.

Tonight I was sculpting on the pottery wheel and couldn't seem to form the lumpy clay with my hands at all like Father. I made sure to tell him how I wished to be gifted at the craft like him, but he prefers results over a sweet tongue.

His instruction is fair but often rather harsh. I know he only wishes the best for the future of his trade, but many times his language veers into territory that...well, that I would keep Hazel away from. In response I always do my best to please him. He, like myself, is quite busy.

He was sober today, thank God, and was mostly quiet when we arrived home. I prepared dinner quickly and took some up to Hazel, who was in bed as usual. After a short bedtime story, I left her to get her rest – she needs it.

Okay, people! That was part 1. I'm going to publish by month (in the journal, not monthly IRL). It's really hard to write old-fashioned and still sound like a kid, so any tips would be much appreciated.