Lin Thi Vu was located in 2191. She was fifty-two years old, a grandmother, and the director of the very library rebuilt on the site. When asked about Delia, she said only: “She taught me that a record is a weapon. The kind that doesn’t kill—it resurrects.”
I don’t know how to fight. But I know how to keep a record. Someone should remember which streets still have water. Which rooftops have a view of the Bloc checkpoints. Which alleys smell like gas leaks. a record of delia's war
I am not brave. I am just here. And I have a pen. Lin Thi Vu was located in 2191
Delia’s war is not glory. Delia’s war is carrying a child through a city that wants her dead.” “Lin is gone. Not dead—I don’t think. Taken. A Bloc patrol kicked in our hideout door at 4 AM. They wanted the radio. Lin threw it out the window before they could grab it. Smashed on the pavement. But they didn’t know that. The kind that doesn’t kill—it resurrects
I have not slept in three days. I have walked past two checkpoints wearing a dead woman’s coat. I am looking for her. But the city is a graveyard with a few breathing people in it.
Note to self: Speed is not survival. Timing is survival.” “I stole bread today. From an old woman’s cellar. She wasn’t there—maybe dead, maybe fled. I left three cans of beans in exchange, but that’s not the point. The point is: I have become someone who takes.
I have written 847 pages. Some are soaked in rain. Some in blood. One in coffee—that was an accident.