The Diary of Breen Galiron

This is the diary of Breen Galirn.



For the purpose of destroying the so called 'Protectorate', I am going to record the events of my life under the capitivity of the government. I don't know what will happen to me, or my daughter, if some of these entries are to be found, but I hope this will fall into the hands of someone good. Someone who still has a voice. This is a diary for that person.

   My name is Breen Galiron. I am forty two years of age. My parents were Simon Galiron and Zara Cullen, and I've lived in the slums of Lower Feopolis as far as I can remember. I'm in prison for the ungodly crime of 'unauthorised entry into Upper Feopolis - the posh parts'. I've lived the first thirty years of my life as a construction worker. GALIRON CONSTRUCTION. My wife, Suzanne, sadly died at childbirth, but, with the last breath the Gods could bestow on her, she left me our daughter Tulip, named after her favourite flower. I haven't seen her in years. Not for the last twelve long years of my everlasting sentence. Of our sentence. She will be eighteen now. Her birthday was a week ago, and I lit a small candle for her, singing 'Happy Birthday' under my breath. I hate thinking about her, and I hate writing and talking about her, in the past tense, but it is impossible to shake your world off your mind, isn't it? I think of how they were keeping her. I like to think they sent her to another family. The thought would comfort me; that she was being looked after.

I hope you read this as a work of truth, of political rebellion, as a work written by a father, a brother, a husband, and a patriot.  



The End

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