Thousands of free stories. Support your favorites when you're ready.
Showing stories tagged with #child-labor Clear filter
Everyone is dead silent as we drive down abandoned allies. Gabby pokes my shoulder. "Hello. Hello Kiela." This girl is a freak. "Hi." I snap, then turn to Maicy.
Gutter child, in her hole. All food she eats, she must have stole. Her mother must've been a troll. She's simply, truely Horrid. She wears rags and works like slave, All for what. Her life to save.
I couldn't sleep this morning and was reading and wanted to share a true story that I think more people should know about.
This is the story I have used for my GCSE Coursework: Narrative Writing. In a field of white, with nothing but a single set of footprints marring the sparkling blanket, was a young boy.
I was a rotten person, evil to the core. I owned a mill upon a hill and worked children to the bone. The mill was very filthy, dirty and full of rats.
October 1850 somewhere near London. Upon her tenth birthday, Phillipa Fitzpatrick, like most others her age, was taken out of her school to instead be home-schooled.
Charlie was woken the next day by the gentle muffles from his sick brother. However, Charlie had woken several times in the tedious night as Will's violent coughing was very loud.
#household. It's my first time. And I am afraid. My father told me. This job pays. So don’t mess it up. Don’t let me down. Now go down. Into the mines you go. The dim. Dark. Dusty mine. I go.
"But, I mean, ahem, Sir, I was just, erm, wondering if, well, I could have a little more?" Charlie Aswin was a short tuft of a boy.
We all sit in the back. Wondering who's next to leave. Next to serve a new master. Life-long to work and heave. We all range from. Little 4 year olds. To teens ready to escape. From working the coals.
My bones slowing deforming, My arms continuously working. Life in the factory. Scoop up the fallen cotton, Down on my knees, Help me please... Life in the factory.
// My English lesson's exercise, where the idea was to add an ending or beginning to a storypart. I chose the latter. And the subject was child labour. Yay.
Kids today don't understand What it's like to grow up in the sand They work and they grind Til they lose there mind These kids work there fingers to the Bone While U.S.