Anyway, 'ere we go, as they say.
How do you begin to tell a tale when you are not sure if it’s about to end? Where do you start when you are not sure what will prove most relevant? I am sitting here using tools of my enemy to procure from my memories an account of what has happened, just in case I am still not around to tell it tomorrow. It is dark. The air is cool and feels like a silken sheet that flits by you, a tangible object made alive through forces I cannot reckon. There is no light. It is the month of no moons. My generator is buzzing next to me. Its light is not great. We cannot afford to have much light here. We are hiding. We are waiting.
How do I relay to you what has happened in my life? How do I make you see that the story of my people can be seen as I tell my own story, that this is not just some egotistical exercise in self-aggrandizement? I can give you my word. This story must live on, or it will all be for nothing. I have no choice but to preserve for you what we have done here, what I have seen and heard. I hope that it will affect you as it affected me. I hope it will spur you to action. I hope you will not sit on your hands, or scratch your head, pout for a moment, and then move on with your everyday life. You need to take this story and run with it. You will understand how if you read it right. It is that hope that is keeping me going right now. It is not that I doubt my cause, our cause. It is rather that my death time is imminent, and my deepest wish now is not to die in vain. The horizon seems to be moving closer to me somehow, and distances are becoming shorter without me taking a step. The time is coming quickly. It is the deepest part of the night, when the insects have stopped their music and the birds are nestled in the trees. The ground is still. With dawn will come our moment. I must not tarry.