Time: 05:24 PM
I think I have reached what Kurt calls "the limits of system tolerance". I think this is it, actually. I have no more room in my mind for useful or coherent thought about any of the things that are going on in the city. This could be the last uncensored message to come from Perplex City, and perhaps I ought to be giving you an in-depth political and sociological analysis, but I can't. Caine wants to talk about mounting a demonstration, Kurt wants to talk about making a formal protest within the Academy, the Sentinel want me to make a statement, and I... I find myself staring into space, thinking about my family. Scarlett hasn't been out of the apartment for a couple of days now and shows no sign of wanting to leave. She flicks through the key news channels, and cries, and sleeps, and sits and stares out of the window at the street below, and cries some more. She hasn't even changed out of pyjamas today. Of course, the fact that there are reporters crowded round the door to my building doesn't make her keener to go for a walk.
My dad's not doing much better. Scarlett and I watched him make a statement on the news last night and we could tell he hadn't slept, his eyes were red and puffy. She wondered if he's going to have to resign, and I wondered if he's going to go to prison but I didn't say that to her. She started crying again anyway. And she's not eating. I order takeout and she pushes it round her plate and chews a couple of mouthfuls but it's not good. My father wants to come over and talk to us but I'm afraid that'll just push Scarlett over the edge. And, in the strongest way I can ever remember, in the deepest sense I've ever known, I miss my mother. I want someone else to come and put all this right, and look after my family because I just don't know what to do.