The last letter
The first time I saw Abigail Smith, she was just sitting there, dipping matches in the phosphorous. I was new to the factory, around the age of seven. My family was poor, and sent me away to work. Although I was sad, I wanted to help, and tried my best. It was a Match-Factory, and they needed so called “match-dippers” or “match girls”. They told me to start working, before walking away.
I sat down at a vacant chair, and noticed that everyone looked at me. I remembered what my parents told me, before they sent me away. “Remember to be polite, and be nice. It will be okay. We are so sorry”. I guess I should introduce myself. That’s polite, right? I cleared my throat.”umm..hi, my name is Margaret…” For some seconds it was total silence, but then it started. “hello Margaret” “Why are you here?” “did your parents die? Or did they just send you away?”. The only one that kept silent, was her. She sat there dipping, and dipping, and dipping.
I started dipping to, and tried my best to seem kind, and polite. I tried to answer all the questions, but when I did, they asked new ones. After an hour or something, they stopped asking, and we worked in silence, with the exception of some low whispers.
After about six hours, we got a break. Half an hour.
We got food...some weird bluish grey porridge.
I saw the girl from earlier, the silent one...she sat alone, so I went to sit with her. “Hi” I said.”hello” she answered. I kind of expected her to be shy, but she was actually very secure when she was talking. “My name is Margaret, im seven years old” I said. “I know, you said it earlier” she smiled carefully at me.”well, my name is Abigail, and I’m eight years old, and I’m sorry if I seemed...weird...earlier, I just don’t want to get in trouble, or loose this job, so I do my best at work” she said. I was amazed by how much she talked now. “well, I guess that’s smart...you seem nice” I said. “well, you also se-” she was interrupted by a loud ringing noise. ”oof, back to work then” she said. She was joking, but I could hear a hint of sadness in her voice.
The following years we grew closer and closer. It was actually pretty rare that you get to have a best friend in the factory industry that long. Many of our coworkers died in the following years, but we, we survived. The phosphorous we dipped the matches in, could be very deadly if you inhaled too much, but we kept going.
She told me her fears, her goals, and why she was there. Her family passed away when she was three, and she had to go live with her aunt. She was from a pretty rich family, and her aunt wanted all the money, so she sold her to the factory. I didn’t really know what to say about that. We was together every break, every minute. We kept silent while working, but in the breaks we talked and talked. She was like a sister to me, or maybe more?
The important thing was that I had her and she had me, we was together about everything. But one day, everything changed. Isn’t it weird how that happens? How everything can turn in just a few hours? Well, back to the story.
It was just like any other day, we worked the first six hours. I noticed Abigail didn’t look on top, but I thought she was okay. The break went just as normal, we talked, but something was odd. I thought she had catched a cold or something. Suddenly, the break was over, and we had to get back to work.
It started just like normal, but after a while, she coughed, and coughed, and coughed again. She coughed and she coughed. She held it in so long, and now it all came out. After some coughing, she was fainted. I hurried to her. I knew she wasn’t going to survive, but I couldn’t let her go. She was the only one I really cared about, and now she was gone.
She inhaled too much phosphorous.
That was two months ago.
I don’t think I can keep living without her, and I want this to be my last words. She was my everything, and she was much more than a sister to me. I love her. I need her to fulfill my life, and now that she isn’t here, I don’t have a reason for living.
Thanks for everything, but I can’t do this anymore.
Yours sincerely, Margaret Jane Elton.