If you are reading this, it's too late for you. For all of us. Let me explain.
Many years ago - what was it, 3065? - I made a pact to my mother. On her final breath, she made me swear to never leave new earth. She told me to resist... something. She passed before she could finish. then the true hell began. Countless hours spent working, slaving under the heat of the new earth sun.
On good days, the heat would dry up your skin to where it felt as if it would crack. On the bad ones, it would be sweltering and humid, making the salty poison called sweat leak from your pores like the life-giving elixir the teachers call water leaks from the hills. With a sandstorm of pain from my mother's death along with the acid storm of pain from the little cuts on my hands and lashes on my back, I struggled to stay positive.
So, I got a journal. I wrote down my worries and fears in that journal. Papercuts from its thick pages and sores from gripping my writing stick started to join the ones from my axe and shovel. Soreness from hunching over that little thing joined the ones from the lashes of the master's whip. I started to calm down. Too much. Suddenly the journal was taken from me, given to the great master. Lashings doubled, along with security and stress.
I felt like i would die right then and there. Like I was hated by the world and the Old Ones. Like I was hated by anything or anyone who altered my life in any way.
The rations were thinning out. The rich ones were going back to Old Earth, to get more. No one had done so in generations. I so desperately want
