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My First Night at Carlisle

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I sit on my bed, staring at the white wall. Everyone is asleep. Only I am awake. A stolen kitchen knife lies in my hands, the moonlight reflecting off its shiny surface. I sigh, letting out a low moan. I raise the knife and make a small cut in my flesh. A stream of blood trickles down my cheek, mixing with my tears. Then I raise the knife again. I slice it hard through my cheek. I scream in agonizing pain. I cut again, this time on the other cheek. Blood stains my white bed-sheets.

"Take me, Great Spirit!" I wail. "Take me now!" I lift my arms to the sky, waiting to die. Nothing happens. I hear footsteps echoing down the hall. They have heard me. I drop the knife to the floor and continue wailing. The white man has taken away my family, my clothes, my braids, my life. I am mourning, for I am dead.





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