The Imperfect's Journal: 1

May 26th, 2066

They've been handing out small bags of food every morning and every evening (they refers to the two Canadian volunteers who are helping all of the refugees on the bus), but it's always the same food, so it's getting dull. I do feel satisfied after each meal, but it'd be nice if they changed things up a little.

I don't like complaining. The fact that I'm alive and on my way to the place I wanted to go is nothing short of a miracle. I have it easy; things could have gone much worse for me. Much worse.

My leg has been hurting all day. Thankfully, I didn't have to walk on it other than once when we stopped to use the restroom while the bus was recharging at a station about thirty miles back. My limp is so embarrassing, but no one seemed to stare. There are lots of imperfects around us, so I guess a limp isn't all that surprising--not when one of the imperfects on the bus is missing both legs, at least.

I don't think Jess really understands the nature of my disease. She keeps having these personal conversations with me. We go in-depth about our life experiences, worries, fears, and other feelings. It doesn't matter at all, yet she doesn't get that. She doesn't get that it's all going into brain only to be pushed out within a few minutes, hours, days, or (if I'm lucky) weeks.

Actually, maybe that's why she's exchanging so much personal information with me; I'm the perfect listener--the ideal secret keeper. She can tell me anything she wants, I'll engage in a discussion, and then I'll just forget the conversation ever happened.

If that's what's going on, I feel a bit used. It makes sense, though. We all need someone to talk to about the difficult stuff, but it can be a challenge to find someone you trust.

Sara is that person for me. I think I've told her everything about my past, though she likely doesn't remember anything that wasn't written down in a letter or online message. Much of our communication was done through video chat. I wouldn't remember the conversation the next day, but it was always nice to check my history and see that we'd spoken for more than two hours the night before.