To Live, A Nightmare Indeed

January 15, 1815
Journal,
Its cold. My food is almost gone, I can’t feel my hands. I lost my hat; my ears are frozen. My sisters are dying. Sasha has pneumonia, and Nastea’s lost her coat and shoes. My hair is falling out. I look at the broken down train behind us. Tree’s sleep soundlessly on top of it. I sit at a tree trunk, with you on my lap, and a scrawny pencil in my hand. Nastea sits beside Sasha, feeding her berries and herbs. I hope things get better, Journal. I hope things get better.
Bye Journal,
Nadia

January 16, 1815
Journal,
We have gotten fortunate, Journal! Nastea has found coats in the broken down train. She sits by Sasha now, covering her in them. And she took one for herself as well. I can see color returning to Sasha’s cheeks. Nastea coughs harshly, shivering nervously. Her toes are turning blue, and one has already fallen off. We slept in the train last night, getting as much warmth as we could. We have to start to move tomorrow, find shelter. The berries Nastea fed Sasha seem to have made Sasha a lot sicker than she was before. She’s coughing up blood now. The snow around her is stained with red and pink. I attempted to make a fire earlier, and let me tell you journal, it didn’t work out. It’s much to cold to start flames. For every time the fire ignites, it extinguishes, the harsh winds blowing it out. I’m losing my teeth, journal. Nastea can’t talk anymore, and her and Sasha’s hair is mostly gone. Journal, what’s happening to us?
Bye Journal,
Nadia

January 20, 1815
Journal,
It’s my birthday, Journal. I’m thirteen. Sasha attempts to smile for me, and I cry when she succeeds. Even though her teeth are yellow, and her lips are marked with blood, she looks better than she did earlier. Her gums swell, but she still manages to speak. Nastea laughs for the first time in days, at seeing Sasha smile. My birthday is going better than I expected it to. I do not ask for gifts or cake. I only ask for my sisters and I to survive through this.
Bye Journal,
Nadia