The fateful date of her escape from the factory was permanently ingrained in her memory like a branding iron against a cow’s flank. No matter how hard she tried to forget, tried to let go, her brain simply wouldn’t. Some things were never forgotten. No matter how hard she wished.

It was a Tuesday. And Kimmi was reading. Not many slave girls could read, but Kimmi was different. She was special, or so her parents had said. She could see letters. She could form letters into words. Then form words into sentences. Sentences into paragraphs. Then paragraphs into books.  It was quite a talent. Unfortunately, none of the guards recognized this as a talent. After all, education was dangerous in slaves. Knowledge was power. And if it was one thing that slaves could never have, it was power.

So, when she was reading, it came as no surprise when the guard came barging in. It came as no surprise when her book was snatched from her grasp. No surprise when his angry fist collided violently with her tender cheek. When he locked the book away and dragged her to the furnace where she would stay and work for the rest of the day as punishment. For Kimmi, this was the unfortunate norm.

The smell was probably the worst. The awful combination of thick smoke, coal and sweat, lingering in the air, seemed to make the place much more unbearable. The stain it left in the air tinted it an unfortunate grey, in no way helping her mood. The only time the tint seemed to leave was when she was at the furnace. The dull grey was replaced with scalding red. Every time Kimmi was forced to feed the fiery mouth with more fuel, it seemed to crank up another shade of blinding red. It seemed like a game of roulette every time she shoveled more coal into the greedy mouth. A game of chance. Too much or too little coal would result in a spray of sparks that left blistering burns on her skin. It craved perfection. And Kimmi was not perfect. She had the burns from the furnace to prove it.

After 4 or so hours of coal shoveling, she was delegated the devastating duty of chimney sweeping. That was almost worse then the furnace. Almost. It wasn’t the fact that the remains of the smoke stuck to the sides of the pipes like barnacle s on the side of a ship, making it near impossible to clean without brute force. It wasn’t the fact that the ash seemed to climb into her mouth and situate itself permanently to her lungs like it had to the pipes previously. No. The worst was, no matter how much time or work Kimmi did, whether it be climbing into the pipes to get them clean, or scrubbing so hard that it strained her wrists, somehow, there was always more to do. That drove Kimmi to near insanity. No matter how much she did, no matter how much any of the countless girls in the factory did, it was never enough. This fact made her feel even smaller than she had been previously. She didn’t think that was possible.

After a hard day of work, Kimmi was sent to her ‘room’, that’s what the guards called it, anyway. To eyes that held any degree of compassion, it would be a cell.  As Kimmi’s punishment, she did not get dinner or a bed. It was stripped away, just like her pride. Just like her dignity. Just like her everything. It was just her in the room. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t focus. All she could do was walk to the corner of the room and do what ten-year-old girls could do best in such a bleak and tragic situation. She cried. She cried harder than she ever had in her whole life. She stayed there, curled in ball, trying to be smaller then her already shattered self-esteem for hours on end. Expelling whatever tears she could, all the tears she had left bottled up for oh so many years. Sooner or later, her sobs of sadness and pain soon turned into sobs of anger and frustration. Her tears, once hot and ever flowing were now cold as ice. Rage soon replaced the tears.  A rage that could not be controlled or contained. Not by cells, not by guards, not even by herself.

Kimmi lifted her eyes. In front of her to her left, was her shovel. To her right, there was a door. The guard’s room. The guard’s room that held the keys. That held her book. That held her freedom. She grasped the shovel in her hands and jammed it through the doorframe, adrenaline and boiling anger giving her the power to open the door. She silently crept in, trying to resist the urge to ransack his room and beat him senselessly. That was not her priority. The keys were, which were in his jacket pocket. It jingled in her hand. That jingle was the sweet sound of freedom. And freedom sounded grand. She continued searching. It wasn’t long until she found the only thing she was looking for, the only thing that she needed, the only thing that mattered right now. The book. The familiar smell and texture of pages and ink almost made her want to weep. But there was no time to weep. Only time to leave.

For a high-end factory, there was very little security, especially at this time of night. This was good for Kimmi, as it took little to no plan of escape. She was fast and swift and determined. Clutching her beloved book tightly to her chest, unwilling to loose it again, she ran. Kimmi ran as fast as she could. All the pain she was feeling was blocked out. The burning pain in her feet and chest were replaced by the fear and adrenaline. She needed to get enough distance between her and that place. She stopped and looked around, trying to find a means of escape. She was frantically searching, soon they would find her, and she needed to leave. She wouldn’t be able to run forever. Then she heard it. The train.

She ran towards the sound as fast as she possibly could. She ran away from the place that tore her family apart, the place that denied her the light of day. She ran from the place that took her life from her. When she was close enough to the carriage she jumped. She leapt. She flew into the carriage. Only just making it, Kimmi landed with a thud. She pulled herself in and adjusted herself in the carriage. She leaned on the wall and took deep, calming breaths. Tears of relief and physical pain rolled down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them. The tears were a reminder of what she earned. She was happy. She was scared. She was free. A million emotions and thoughts flooded in her head, but she blocked them out. Instead, she opened her book and she read.

And for the first time, there was no one in the world that could stop her.