Let me preface this with the most important detail to be understood: 

I am not the author of this, nor am I the owner of this diary.

I've only recovered this in the ruins of a building, nigh distinguishable, on the aftermath of something so horrid and inexplicably unreasonable. Yet, I have no power nor the courage to speak of it. Not now, anyway.

This diary was supposed to be burned, along with countless other books that the Administration has banned and deemed as having thoughts and ideals irrreconcilable with those being taught in schools. Immoral, unjust, and simply untrue.

I have no clue what compelled me to take it, to bring it home inside my coat. I've been sweating bullets trying to keep a straight face to my superiors after they asked me if the fires have been lit.

I shall try to transcribe each and every page. Try to find out who this belonged to, if they're even alive at this point. I have only this, and the initials - T. W. F. embossed in the inner part of the leather cover - to go on.

Please be patient. I'm not sure if what I'm doing is a crime - but it sure feels like it is.

This is double the risk, seeing as I work under the Ministry of Information myself.

More to follow.

Let the Truth persevere.

- Cecilio M.