"The world is your oyster." I remember my dad spinning me around the room. Full of life, full of love. Ironic, when you think of his sickly pallor, and his wheezing breaths. Now he can barely caress my face. I rouse myself from my thoughts. I know that there is a reason that I'm here. Not to dream and wistfully think of what was once, but to fufill my mission.
An expanse of desert stretches miles in front of me. The large backpack on my shoulder holds rations for 2 weeks, but water for only one. For the first time today, I have a ripple of doubt. Finding one leaf, one plant, in a whole desert. When Amandaline visited me, it seemed so perfect, so simple. But that was before I saw the vastness and the dryness of the desert. I haven't seen a plant for an hour, much less a lively and healthy plant. I close my eyes, and for the fifth time, remember what Amandaline said to me, that dark and stormy night.