It took me but an hour to realize I should have taken a different job on the ship.
It's all these telegrams…so many well wishers, worried spouses and missed friends expected to send word. I feel a jolt in my heart reading each one of them.
I'm done being loyal. I'm angry with you both. I just want to stop hurting, is that too much to ask? Why am I still here? Of what purpose am I to anyone or anything? What is to become of the infinite years ahead of me?
Why did you have to leave me behind?
May 9, 1893, aboard The Aurora
To be continued...