The Imperfect's Journal: 1

June 3rd, 2066

We should arrive at the coast come morning. Since we keep swapping seats, I got to sit in the passenger seat while Trent drove, today. The passenger seat is quite roomy; it's been good to stretch my legs.

Trent and I have been talking during much of the drive. He asked about Sara, so I told him what I remember--the late-night and early-morning conversations, the often-glitchy video chats, the hand-written letters and printed photos, the care packages... As I told him these things, I was reminded of just how affectionate she was. Even while we were apart, I felt insanely loved. I felt more loved than I ever had. When we were together, face-to-face... it was perfect. I need that, again. No matter how dire our circumstances are, I need to be with her again.

Trent told me about his parents. He was adopted from Haiti at a young age by a fairly prestigious American family. When the Perfect America Bill was passed, they warned him that he should leave the country before race becomes a factor in determining whether or not someone is imperfect.

They didn't come with him, though. That was enough for him to infer that they were just trying to get rid of him to save themselves in the future. Getting him out of the country while he wasn't technically considered imperfect was easier than trying to get him out of the country after race became a factor.

They weren't willing to leave their lives behind for their son. Trent said it isn't surprising. All his life, he's felt like an ornament--a decoration for the lifestyle his adoptive parents had led before his arrival.

It made me appreciate my own mother. She died for me--or she was captured. She didn't turn me in. Maybe that benefited her, since she would have been subjected to testing given the genetic nature of my disease, but she still took on some level of risk for me. She loved me.

I realize now that I am surrounded by people I don't know. The person I'm closest with is Jess, and I haven't known her for long. Lately, she hardly speaks to me.

I am very, very alone.