To my parents

Okay, so first off, I want to tell you I'm okay. I've found some other people who are like me, and they're helping me out. They even suggested coming in here to the webcafe and posting on this blog.

...

It's weird, I've been sitting here for five minutes now, and I've only written three sentences. You'd think there would be a lot to tell you, but really, other than 'I'm okay', there isn't. I can't tell you where I am, and I can't tell you who I'm with, because they might ask you, and I know how hard that can be.

I guess what I can do, is tell anyone else out there who I am. My name is Danny Fife, and in about three months, I'll be eighteen. Then, the government will take me away, kill me, and when I wake up, they'll throw me into Soul's Reach, where if I'm lucky, they'll kill me again.

Yep, for all of you slow on the uptake, I'm a Mort. Or I will be, after they put me down.

I only remember bits of the day my Dad told me about it all. Mum cried a lot. Dad held up my right hand, showed me the skull-shaped mark above my thumb, and said that, when the time came, they would take me away. You didn't way who they were, Dad, but I learned about it, growing up. Times were I wished they'd hurry up. I was a complete outcast at school, because of that little mark (I asked one of the other Morts I'm staying with why he couldn't just scrape it off, and he told me 'it always comes back'). The only things people said to me were usually insults, and the only contact I had was usually a fist or a foot. That's why I skipped school so much. That's why I ran away all those times. Only this time, with any luck, they won't catch me and bring me back.

I'm just about out of time on this machine, so I want to say one more thing. I know you did your best to protect me from everyone, but, when it gets right down to it, you can't do anything. I am what I am, to quote a famous philosopher, and from here on in, the only people who can help me are the people who are me.

I love you guys.

Danny.