Hello this is my entry for the Bioshock Infinite Writing Contest and I hope you enjoy it :)
April 26, 1912
Dear Journal,
I know this may seem weird writing my feelings and frustrastion into a empty book, but you are the only one I can really talk to. I feel stuck, unable to experience the wonders the world has to offer. Through my window, I watch the people of this city, enjoying their daily routines and I envy them. I see children laughing and chasing each other without a care in the world, I wish I could have done that with children my age instead of being here with no one. Why was I raised in this tower? Where did my parents go? I can't even remember my parents no matter how much I try and I found it easier to stop tryng to remember them since they obviously didn't want me. More importantly why won't he let me leave this place?
As long I can remember, he has always been here to watch over me, take care of me even though though he never talks in words. He sings different songs in different tones as his way of communication and yet I understand what each one is. I remember the first time he sang to me and I didn't understand, looking at my right hand, this thimble is a reminder of my foolishness. Most of the time it isn't that bad, when he tucks me in and sings a soft melody to help me sleep, those are the times I feel peace and most of the lonliness seeps away for awhile. At least that's what I tell myself, but as time went on, I know this isn't how a girl is suppose to be raised, locked in a tower with no contact with the outside world except for the small birds that come to my small garden and I envy them for being able to fly where ever they want with no one's permission. If he really cared about me, he would let me leave this place, but instead of feeling warmth and comfort, I feel like I'm in a prison and unseen chains are keeping me here. The more time I spend here, the more the weight of these chains are draining my spirit.
Why do the people of Colombia fear me? I never did anything to them, I never asked for this life and yet I sometimes see my face on blimps. Some see me as some beacon of hope or a sign that everything is suppose to stay this way. There is nothing special about me, I want to live my life as a normal person and see what lies below the city for i know there is something out there waiting for me. Even if I try to escape, he would stop at nothing and spare no one to bring me back here, but I know trying to convince him to leave with me would be wasting tme and breath. There is a nursery rhyme the children say and it brings a deadly chill down my spine as I hear them say it.
" SongBird SongBird, Spirit in the Sky, SongBird SongBird, The last thing you see before you die."