It has now been 6 weeks since we have started traveling from Georgia. We, the Cherokee people, have not seen civilization for 3 days and my father is on the verge of dying. He caught diphtheria just last night. It is really cold. As I walk barefooted, I think of our old land and how they took it away. It's not fair we have never done anything wrong! Did we? I don't know. We must have if they are being so mean to us. They even called us one of the five civilized tribes. Doesn't that mean anything or is it just another name? Every second of our journey babies are crying and families are grieving over lost loved ones. Every stop we make there are 15-20 people buried. Soon my family and I will go into mourning. The ground has turned into blood stained snow. If you get lost all you have to do to find your way back is look for the blood stained snow and follow it. We have not gotten fresh water for over a week now. Almost every one is deathly ill. Food supplies are very low. I've not eaten a crumb in days. I've just received news that my mother is pregnant. There is no medical help and my mother will soon deliver. She will die, and with my dad sick there will be no one to take care of me. This is all your fault Andrew Jackson. Some day I will get revenge! As I walk on I wonder, once we do get to the Mississippi, how will we or I cross to the other side. The people that are paid to lead us to the Indian Territory are crooks. They steal from us at night when we are asleep. When my parents die who will stop them from taking all that we have?
             My Dad died of diphtheria and my Mom died while giving birth. I'm left protecting myself and the little one, finding food and water, and protecting our property. The snow stings my feet as I press on with the little tike in one arm and a backpack full of precious jewelry and inheritance in the other. Every now and a
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