Of Lost Boys and Impossible Ventures
an excerpt

November 23, 2372

Dear Journal:
My name is Jesse Allen Daniels. I'm eight years old. Today mommy gave me this book and told me to write in it. She said I could write about whatever I wanted to, but I can't show it to anyone, ever. She says that the bad men could come and take us away.

Jesse set down the dog-eared journal with a sad sigh. It had been seven years now since he started keeping journals, but the two years chronicled in this one were the saddest. A few months after he had turned eight, his mother had found him snooping about in her room and taken him aside to a small alcove he had never known existed. He remembered being wide eyed with wonder as he took in the unfamiliar sights; a flag of red, white and blue hung on the wall, file cabinets neatly lined up across from the entrance, and pictures of peoples familiar and unfamiliar occupied much of the remaining free space. His mother had added a hard-backed chair and a ragged rug to add a more homey touch, though the color did little to warm the atmosphere.

He hadn't understood much then, only that this must remain a secret and that she could get in trouble for whatever secrets she had hidden. While he remembered the urgent impression his mothers words had, Jesse could remember little more than his fascination with the flag and subsequent disappointment when he learned he would be unable to talk about it. It was the next day that she had given him the journal, made him promise to never show it to anyone. That was another thing it had taken him years to understand. Now he understood it all too well.