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The Diary of Isabelle Adams

By Megan C., Brooklyn, NY

June 1, 1831

The setting sun sparkles, a florescent glow bouncing off of his smooth brown skin. He appears an angel of radiance amongst the quickly darkening surroundings as he lifts the ax once more…chopping wood to feed the starving fire. His bruised, muscled arms quiver, but never falter as he continues to work endlessly. A few faint stars are appearing now in the sky, but he doesn’t pause for so much as a second to admire the beauty for fear of taking his eyes off of the task ahead. All the while, from inside my bedroom window, I can’t take my eyes off of him.
I often feel guilty watching Isaac from the window-like an innocent bystander at a zoo, watching the animal suffer and bleed for my amusement. I fight a constant battle between my head and my heart.

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