The Imperfect's Journal: 1

May 24th, 2066

I probably shouldn't be writing down Jess's personal business, just in case someone else reads this at some point. She's told me a lot about herself, though. The more she tells me, the more upset I get that it's all for nothing. In six days, we'll get on different planes and we'll never see each other, again. Then, piece by piece, I'll forget her and will have to refer to the vague entries I have about her just to remember that I had a friend during these difficult times.

There's a man opposite my seat on the bus. He's about my age, maybe a little older. He's missing an arm, which I presumed was the reason he'd fled the U.S., but he explained that he's actually going to Australia to volunteer as a new recruit.

I know that with my disease, I would be a useless soldier. But there are other needs that an army has. Perhaps, if I can't find Sara (or, though I'm loathe to consider it, if she's dead), I'll volunteer to help in whatever way I can. After all, if a one-armed man can be of use, so can I, right? Hell, if Sara's gone, I'll even volunteer to be cannon fodder. Death will likely be welcome, at that point.

The man who wants to be a soldier gave me his name, but I forgot it. I'm too embarrassed to ask again, so I'll see if someone else says it, then write it down. I hate that I'm writing a reminder to myself that's essentially just reminding me to write down a different reminder.

Oh, I forgot to put in an entry for the 23rd. I basically slept through the whole day and when I tried to think of something to write, nothing came to mind. My brain was really fuzzy, yesterday. That's not a good sign. That happened to my aunt more and more often as she drew closer to the end. She said it almost hurt when she tried to remember things, but mostly it was just stressful. That's how I felt, yesterday. My aunt also started... seeing things shortly after this. And hearing them. We'd catch her having a full conversation with an empty room, sometimes.

I don't want that to be me.