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I didn't know how long I was in the bathroom cleaning my wounds. Time seemed to stop, my hands moving as if they weren't a part of me. I didn't think. I guess you would call it shock. The events of the last days seemed like a some movie. A horror movie, I might add. But it wasn't a movie. It was real. And how it started, I'm not quite sure anymore.

Now that I really think about it, it must have began four days ago, at the protest I oragnized. Yes, that would be the start. I was infront of a government building, along with many others fighting for my cause. My picket sign was very plain, but bold and meaningful. The sun beamed down upon our backs, as if approving of what we did. Some people honked their horns as they passed our protest, supporting us. Others made rude gesters with thier hands, then there were those who shouted crude words at us. But I had not carred. Making a diffrence was all that mattered. I yelled the loudest, marched the highest, and seemed to lead everyone in our efforts to change the way the government was thinking. Then the sirens could be heard, soon followed with the cops. We scattered. Some were shot, I saw the ambuilence take them away. The athorities seemed to center me out as the leader, which would be true. I ran for my life. Guns were fired behind me, this was getting out of hand, I knew then that I would be a marked woman. I barley escaped tht day, and luckily, without injury. They had been on the hunt for me the day after and the day after that.

Then yesterday, I decided to attend a protest lik the one I had attened three days before. It would take part infront of the same building, protesting the same purposes. I assembled my picket signs and headed out. Within five mintutes the jig was up. Most of us had not assembled yet, but our numbers were still great. Many were arrested, I heard there words of panic and defience. As for me, I was chased down. The stars were bright, the moon helping guide my way. I ran down many diffrent alleyways, trying to shake of the government chronies that followed me. They shot at me, barley missing, sometimes skimming my shoulder. They wanted me dead. I was infulenceing to much. I had also found about their plans....The information that made me more dangerous.

Then I had dived through that bush, which led me here. And now it was a matter of being paient, waiting for the news and tv broad casts to go out, incrimantin my name as a dangerous person. I slightly smiled at this. My name would be on the 'Most Wanted' list. What would this old man, Wilson, do? Would he turn me in or risk his life to help me? Did he even know who I was or what I knew?

(Look for page two later this week.)