A Mediocre Day

(So, I was looking through some of my story files and came across this particular piece that I had written some time ago. It pretty much takes place during the three months that Selidor was gone and had the Casmuth, and had a hired klisk and macaneon. It also explains why the hired help were never seen again. Note that Selidor called the Casmuth [which I believe was actually named 'Cazzy'] something different each time he referred to it. Anyhow, forgot I had it till today, but thought you all might enjoy seeing it anyhow. Congratulations if you can follow what happened.)

Captain's Log of the Wormwood-
Under the Command of Selidor Jezerit.
Time: 2130

I thought about suicide today. Everyone thinks about it, but sometimes I forget to. It really is the permanent solution to a temporary problem. But I don't have problems. So I don't need death. I have a goal though, and I will see it completed no matter what I do. Even if I do die.

Stars die sometimes, I've seen it. I've seen them unravel along the length of the galaxy, sputtering and wailing as they go. They bleed, they sob, they leave trails of sunshine. We chased after one until the disease took our men and left the crew full of dust and stench. Death knew I had a goal, so It left me be.

He knew I did too, the man with the medical hooks in his face. The man in the hallway with the flickering lights. His eye was drooping, spilling down his cheek, and he smelt of medical waste not yet burned. He knew of my plans and tried to manipulate them, but he didn't serve the dark. He thought me mad, and pointed to my eye and said it was his. But it wasn't. It was mine, it is still mine.

Killed a klisk at 2000. My hands and lips still reek of blood. Can't get it off.

Karr asked me about it at 2100, I almost forgot he was a klisk too. We massacred his people today.

But my foot's bleeding, will have to check on that.

Mother used to put tacks on the floor. And on the mirrors. I hated mirrors. I knew what they really were from the day I could see my own reflection.

At 2200, I will kill another klisk.

The spider used to hang on my feet, I would tear off its limbs and then patch it up to heal. It only loved me more. Putting glass in the blood never stopped it. Only cut my feet in the end.

Thought about suicide today. It wouldn't take much, just a flick at the trigger, or even a battle with a friend. I wouldn't have to deal with my own flaws shrouding the floor with glass and tacks. But don't let them know, there's a twist.

My crew of two other men are starting to worry. I thought Karr said, "That eye is mine." so I slammed his head to the side of the hull. If he wasn't a damned klisk I would have killed him.

But at 2200, I will kill another klisk.

The vents in this ship are amazing, almost able to hide half a metric ton of illegal cargo. But, when empty, give the greatest airflow.

At 2200, I'll have wished I could have saved the macaneon.

I slammed his head into the hull, grinding his eye into the metal- his rank smell disgusted me with the worst of pain. Tanell never liked tension. I am nothing but tension, wired intricately on a thin coil of a sniper rifle still steaming. Tanell frantically flashed his hands back and forth, trying to get me off Karr. But Tanell is only a macaneon. And Karr would have died if he weren't a klisk.

I think my crew is starting to worry.

They'll prepare the mutiny at 2158. It is an appropriate time. But it's not really mutiny. Their captain has gone quite mad, after all.

Unfortunately, I will kill a klisk at 2200.

Unfortunately, at 2200, I'll have wished I could have saved the macaneon.
I watched a star die, I chased it long after my companions could not. It was alone, it was in pain, it mourned itself as the universe screamed after it veiled in a thin layer of isolation.

The air vents are opening now. It is 2150.

I won't tell anyone.

I won't tell anyone, but I killed the star.

I found grains of its brother buried in the hair of a little girl's corpse.

I flicked the powder into the sun, and it choked on sorrow.

And in that moment, it became my eye.

A crew died of disease while chasing a star; diseased caused by a spores spread through an airvent.

Spores found through tendrils of the dead.

It was never his eye, the man in the flickering hallway, and I should have torn the hooks from his face for his words. I should have peeled his eyes layer by layer with nails and needles and rusted things. I should have peeled back the skin over his heart and spit upon it. I should have left him alone on that cursed ship, unable to die. But I killed him before I could.

The vents have been opened. It is 2157.

At 2200, I will kill another klisk.

I can almost imagine the hissing sound of a million bits of pollen scraping against metal walls, begging for release against the relentless wind behind them.

It was more beautiful than I imagined, covered in inches of grey that stuck to our clothes, our faces, our ship as we landed. We left prints in the ash and explored the tunnels of my life. This was mine once, this is what I worked for, this was my goal. And it will be again.

This is why death would not touch me.

But they could not know. The other ship landed behind us. We massacred the few klisks.

I could no longer smell the ash on my hands. Only copper and iron and foreign tangy things.

I collected off the dead, and no one asked why. No one ever asks me why anymore.

There's banging on the wall now. They've realized what's happened, what's happening. They know they will not survive this, but they are desperate. They've already tried to close off the vents to no avail. The heavier fists of the klisk dent the wall.

With a smile, I roll my chair lazily in the other direction.

The banging stops.

It is 2200.

I have killed another klisk.

I wish I could have spared the macaneon.

There are more stars to find.

My crew of one is worried.

But Death knows my goal. I will not be touched.

And there are more stars to find.

-END CAPTAIN'S LOG-