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As the wagon train lumbered across the vast prairie, young Eliza huddled in the corner of her family's covered wagon, her eyes fixed on the endless sea of grass outside. At just ten years old, she had already endured more hardship than most adults. Orphaned at a young age, she had bounced between distant relatives and temporary homes before finally being taken in by the Johnsons, a kind couple embarking on the Oregon Trail.
Though the Johnsons treated her with care, Eliza couldn't shake the feeling that she was just a temporary addition to their lives. She watched as Mrs. Johnson lovingly tended to her own children, braiding their hair and soothing their fears about the journey ahead. Eliza longed for that same attention but felt unworthy of asking for it.
One afternoon, as the wagon train stopped to rest, Eliza wandered to a nearby stream. She knelt by the water's edge, cupping her hands to take a drink. As she did, she noticed her reflection rippling in the gentle current. For a moment, she stared at herself, wondering if anyone would miss her if she simply disappeared into the vast wilderness surrounding them.
The sound of laughter drifted from the camp, and Eliza turned to see the other children playing a game of catch. She wanted to join them but hesitated, feeling like an outsider. Instead, she busied herself gathering small pebbles from the stream bed, arranging them in neat little piles that no one would notice or care about.
As the sun began to set, Mr. Johnson called for everyone to return to the wagons. Eliza trudged back, her pockets heavy with the worthless stones she had collected. She climbed into the wagon, settling into her usual spot without a word. The other children chattered excitedly about the day's adventures, but Eliza remained silent, feeling as though her presence or absence made no difference to anyone.
That night, as the camp settled in for sleep, Eliza lay awake, listening to the sounds of the prairie. The gentle creaking of the wagon, the distant howl of a coyote, and the soft breathing of the sleeping family around her all seemed to emphasize her own insignificance. She was just one small person in a vast, indifferent world.
In the morning, as the wagon train prepared to move on, Eliza helped with the chores as she always did. She fetched water, folded blankets, and helped hitch the oxen, all without complaint. But each task felt meaningless, like drops in an endless ocean. She wondered if anyone would notice if she did them or not.
As they traveled, Eliza spotted a beautiful wildflower growing alongside the trail. For a moment, she considered asking to stop so she could pick it, but the words died in her throat. She didn't want to be a bother, to slow down the important journey for something as trivial as a flower that would soon wilt and be forgotten.
Days turned into weeks, and Eliza's feelings of insignificance grew. She watched as families celebrated birthdays and milestones, feeling like a shadow on the periphery of their joy. Even when Mrs. Johnson praised her for her help with the younger children, Eliza couldn't shake the belief that she was easily replaceable, that her contributions were too small to matter in the grand scheme of their arduous journey.
One evening, as the wagon train circled for the night, Eliza overheard two women talking. "Poor little thing," one said, glancing in her direction. "It's good of the Johnsons to take her in, but you have to wonder if she'll ever truly belong anywhere."
The words cut deep, confirming Eliza's worst fears. She slipped away from the camp, finding a quiet spot behind a large boulder. There, she allowed herself to cry silently, her tears falling unnoticed in the gathering darkness. She felt as insignificant as a grain of sand on the vast prairie, easily overlooked and ultimately unimportant in the story of the brave pioneers heading west.
As she sat there, a small prairie dog emerged from its burrow nearby. It looked at Eliza curiously before scurrying about its business. Eliza watched it, thinking how even this small creature seemed to have more purpose and belonging than she did. The prairie dog had its family, its home, its place in the world. Eliza felt she had none of these things.
Eventually, she heard Mrs. Johnson calling her name. Eliza stood up, brushing off her dress and wiping away her tears. She took a deep breath, put on a brave face, and walked back to the camp, ready to blend into the background once more. As she climbed into the wagon for another night's rest, she couldn't help but wonder if anyone would have truly missed her if she hadn't returned at all.