JOURNAL OF DEREK RAYNE11 April - Vrijdag
1 week since Dad died. It’s like I can’t even remember it now. It must have taken me 10 min just to figure how many days it had been - they are running together. I can’t remember what Dad looked like. I can’t think any more. For me there’s only mud and hunger and exhaustion. I despair of ever seeing the sun again. Even when the rain briefly stops, the low, grey clouds are still there. My clothes are rubbing sores because of their filthy wetness.
Sometimes I hear Dad’s voice repeating Mother’s mantra: and this too shall pass. I say it with each step, but don’t believe it. No, that’s wrong. It will pass. I’ll either make it out or I’ll lie down in the stuff and die. Mother will never know what became of us. Dad didn’t tell anyone where we were going.
NEXT 
