Mia (15 year old Cherokee girl) After march on Trail of Tears Dear Journal,

Jan. 21, 1839

Long, toilsome, and depressing. These are the words that have described my life for the past few months. Those cruel, white-faced Americans have cursed my people to live in this new land. And at what cost do we move to this land? I will tell you: hundreds of deaths, bodies littered along the desolate path we took to get here. And what is here? Well, here is a land in which we did not choose to live in. My mother says that I am too young to understand why we are here, but I understand perfectly fine. I heard it in the whispers of the towns weve passed by, and in the conversations of the adults and elders. We are forced to be here simply because we live on land they want. Who are they to remove us from our homelands when we have been here far longer than any of them? I saw my reflection in the stream today and saw the shell of the girl I once was. It was a rather disheartening sight. I also received news of yet another death. This time, it was Jenny. I wont lie and say it didnt affect me at all. Truthfully she was one of my closest friends, but I guess this journey has hardened my heart for any sad news. My mother still cries for the loss of my father. I need to bath again. Scrubbing off the scent of death off my skin will surely help, right? On that note, I will end my journal here and be off to bathe. -Mia