Dopass.com

Daughter,

I am free! I am weak with hunger and I have no water as I walk this drought ridden land, but I do not care. The air I breathe does not carry with it the stink of death and no fences block my view. For this alone I would bear the thirst and hunger that wracks me, stoic - but knowing that I will soon begin my search for you makes me forget that I suffer at all. How I wish that sense of you that I felt was here, but you must be far from here, for I cannot feel you at all. Do you feel me? I wonder. Do you feel my joy at being free? I would like to think that you do.

I admit, all is not well. I am lost. I do not know which desert this is, and even if I did, I do not know where I am in it. I have no supplies save this one piece of paper and this nub of a pencil that I kept with me when I 'died.' I am dressed only in crude rags I have fashioned from the linen of my death shroud. It for the best, covered head to toe as I am, no one can see my green skin. I will scavenge the supplies I need as I go. That is always the way of the desperate.

It's strange, though I know this land is harsh, I do not feel at all threatened by it. I can't bring myself to believe that any part of it would harm me. I can't say how I know it, but I know I will find water when I need it and food when my hunger is at its worst. They say freedom is intoxicating to a prisoner, perhaps they're right.

I have spent much of the day sheltered from the sun in a small gully. There I have considered the beginnings of the Plan that Jared and I have created. Our hope is that one of us can expose the camps to the citizens of this nation. a century ago, this nation rose up and smote those nations of the world that perpetrated similar crimes; surely they will not tolerate the same from their own government. At least, this is Jared's assertion. I want to believe, but we are not the same people we were a century ago. We have turned a blind eye to the evil around us, and far too often we did so willingly. It doesn't matter, I have begun to consider a Plan of my own. Those of us who have the disease are not the only people in this nation to be down-trodden. If the people refuse to see our plight then I will ally us with those citizen who suffer the same inequities. Together we will be a force to be reckoned with and, as the saying goes, "Many hands make light work."

Ah, the light of the setting sun is fading, my child. I must find my way to Los Angeles and I have no idea how far that is. But fret not, your father is a clever man. I can tell north from south, east from west, and so I will head west to the coast. When they took your mother and I, we were blinded so as not to see the route, but we did not drive for more than an hour or two. We cannot be far from the coast. I suspect we are near San Diego, but that is just a feeling I have. With any luck I will know for sure in a few days.

If this is my last letter, know that my love for you grows stronger every day, my Daughter.

Your Father,

- Michael Mendoza