I found out that i can dictate journal entries to the computer. So that makes things a lot easier. I also found out that the setup only recognises certain spellings and phrases. Which is a pain in the ass. (apparently spelling ass "A-R-S-E" isn't real word.)
So it has been officially two days since i walked out (in a manner of speaking) on Drillcorp and took my duty frigate with me. I'm not exactly sure where i'm supposed to go with it. I'm considering trying to head for one of the lowsec zones just to be out of reach in case Drillcorp want their ship and their money back. Hiding out somewhere remote would probably be the best course of action. But then again, dude with no contacts alone in deep nothing doesn't really sound like a success story to me.
The colours are so much brighter and more vivid, even just four or five jumps into the trip. Getting twenty or thirty jumps away, the scenery changes so much it's like a whole different universe. Seeing more stuff than i've seen in a long time all at once, it's a bit of a shock to the system. But it's also really refreshing. It feels like an adventure. I feel like i'm alive again. Sorry for the cliche, but some things are cliche because they're overused, and they're overused because they're true.
I'm hoping i'll be able to find a station that doesn't seem too dangerous. Don't want to rush things too fast. There'll be plenty of that to go around soon enough. Hopefully this 200 k will keep me going for at least a couple of weeks, maybe even a month. We'll see how it goes. Worst come to worst i'll just drop orbit on a factory or some such and get some shut eye
---
Monday, 2 April 2012
Saturday, 31 March 2012
DRILLCORP Ltd Employee #52786
JOURNAL ENTRY #271828
"To whom it may concern.
It has been so long since I felt the thrill of a life well lived. Too long, perhaps. I'm not even sure if there is still time left in these bones to make such a change to my stuck-in-a-rut life. But there is something that i should be doing. I feel it every day when i look out through the hangar doors and see the stars glinting millions of miles away. I want to be close enough to be able to touch those stars, but i know that I'm not going to be able to reach out from where I'm sitting right now. So i need to make a move. I need to prove to myself, and maybe only to myself, that there is still some blood left in my veins. Or whatever may pass for blood these days. I'm not completely sure what it is that i'm supposed to be doing, but I know that I won't find out just rotting away in this same room day after day. I hope that once I find it, I will recognise it and embrace it as some sort of purpose. Time will tell.
I have left my pass cards on the desk. All company property will be returned intact, and any that cannot be returned intact, you will be remimbursed for.
In case it isn't obvious, I quit. I'm mining for myself now.
Sincerely
Chim Demex.
P.S.
I.O.U. 200 000 ISK. And whatever the ship is worth. I'll forward it along with the rest of your property."
------
JOURNAL ENDS
DELETE? Y/N
JOURNAL ENTRY #271828
"To whom it may concern.
It has been so long since I felt the thrill of a life well lived. Too long, perhaps. I'm not even sure if there is still time left in these bones to make such a change to my stuck-in-a-rut life. But there is something that i should be doing. I feel it every day when i look out through the hangar doors and see the stars glinting millions of miles away. I want to be close enough to be able to touch those stars, but i know that I'm not going to be able to reach out from where I'm sitting right now. So i need to make a move. I need to prove to myself, and maybe only to myself, that there is still some blood left in my veins. Or whatever may pass for blood these days. I'm not completely sure what it is that i'm supposed to be doing, but I know that I won't find out just rotting away in this same room day after day. I hope that once I find it, I will recognise it and embrace it as some sort of purpose. Time will tell.
I have left my pass cards on the desk. All company property will be returned intact, and any that cannot be returned intact, you will be remimbursed for.
In case it isn't obvious, I quit. I'm mining for myself now.
Sincerely
Chim Demex.
P.S.
I.O.U. 200 000 ISK. And whatever the ship is worth. I'll forward it along with the rest of your property."
------
JOURNAL ENDS
DELETE? Y/N
In Decision
It had been a few months since Chim had sat at the terminal. The chair was still settled to fit him perfectly, and screen was at the right angle to limit the glare coming down from the flouro's. He sat for a minute and waited for words to come to him; waited for something to demand to be typed. He stood up and walked over to the counter where the caffeinated drinks were kept. He missed coffee, and the synthetic stuff they got here was crap. He missed the smell and the warmth that floated down his throat after that first sip. The memory alone was enough to keep him awake these days. That, and the CAFMax that was apparently sponsoring this wreck.
He went back to the terminal with his drink and placed it in the gap amidst the old gears and pens that littered the desk. He looked up at the blank screen and the reflection of a tired old man stared back. The eyes were puckered and due for renovation, and the rest was no better. All his life he had been afraid of seeing a ghost, and yet here he was, watching himself become one.
His fingers waited patiently above the keys. There they stayed, motionless for a good few minutes. The hum of the cooling unit on the underside of the terminal became a drone. Chim waited for a thought, or rather he waited for a thought that felt significant enough to record. It occurred to him how often the insignificance of his own life entered his head on a daily basis. How often he felt lonely, how often he felt abandoned out here in the arse end of a place he was never quite certain he could spell the name of. He thought of how many times the same stories and ideas had come back to him, and whether he had already written them down, or whether he was just replaying them for himself. He thought of all the stories that he had never written down because they seemed unimportant. Stories that no-one else would be able to tell. Stories that would probably be enjoyed by someone, if he had bothered to capture them while they were fresh. But those old stories were faded now. He slumped back in his chair.
After a moment he looked up at the screen and saw the words that he had typed. Words that he had never said out loud, but here they were, staring him down. Shapes on a screen daring him to do something. Make something. Find one more story so that the next time he sat down at the terminal he would have some words to type.
He smiled. And his reflection smiled back.
He went back to the terminal with his drink and placed it in the gap amidst the old gears and pens that littered the desk. He looked up at the blank screen and the reflection of a tired old man stared back. The eyes were puckered and due for renovation, and the rest was no better. All his life he had been afraid of seeing a ghost, and yet here he was, watching himself become one.
His fingers waited patiently above the keys. There they stayed, motionless for a good few minutes. The hum of the cooling unit on the underside of the terminal became a drone. Chim waited for a thought, or rather he waited for a thought that felt significant enough to record. It occurred to him how often the insignificance of his own life entered his head on a daily basis. How often he felt lonely, how often he felt abandoned out here in the arse end of a place he was never quite certain he could spell the name of. He thought of how many times the same stories and ideas had come back to him, and whether he had already written them down, or whether he was just replaying them for himself. He thought of all the stories that he had never written down because they seemed unimportant. Stories that no-one else would be able to tell. Stories that would probably be enjoyed by someone, if he had bothered to capture them while they were fresh. But those old stories were faded now. He slumped back in his chair.
After a moment he looked up at the screen and saw the words that he had typed. Words that he had never said out loud, but here they were, staring him down. Shapes on a screen daring him to do something. Make something. Find one more story so that the next time he sat down at the terminal he would have some words to type.
He smiled. And his reflection smiled back.
Monday, 9 January 2012
Lost in spaces...
There was no feeling like being out on the edge. That was point of doing it, at least for him it was. Being able to stand on the lip of the hangar, hold his breath, open his eyes suddenly and look in whichever direction he guessed was up. It was a sort of rush for him. It felt like the exact opposite of falling. Rather than that floaty, weightless feeling in his stomach, there was a heavy, violent spasm. Rather than moving closer to the surface, it felt like the surface was racing towards him. It felt like Chim was the exact central point of the galaxy.
And then he would step back from the edge and close his eyes again, let his leg muscles relax and drop to the floor. This feeling wouldn't last for very long and he liked to savour it, remember it. It made him feel fractionally more comfortable knowing that he might be able to catch a piece of that sensation this time. Inevitably, it ran through his fingers just like the first time. He had thrown up that first time and in a panic he had tried to hold it in and catch it before it hit the floor. Inevitably, it ran through his fingers.
As placements went, this wasn't the most terrible place he could be. It was secure, mostly warm, almost comfortable. But there was this itch in the back of his mind that he couldn't scratch. Mining was just so mind numbing. It was easy enough and he was making a fair amount to keep himself surviving out here. He just didn't feel like he was really doing anything. Like he was wasting this chance to make a difference in this ridiculous universe.
When he opened his eyes again he would always find that his body had re-taken control of his lungs and he was once more breathing normally. He would stand up, pull on his boots and go to work.
On his way to the mirror he switched the radio off and picked up the badge he kept next to the sink. It was something he had found a few years ago before he made the big move. It was faded and rusty and you could only just barely make out what it once had written upon it in bright red ink. Now the white background had become grey and the words had turned pink. But it still said those same four words. He read the badge again, and put it back next to sink, where he would find it tomorrow before he went out to work.
I love you dad.
And then he would step back from the edge and close his eyes again, let his leg muscles relax and drop to the floor. This feeling wouldn't last for very long and he liked to savour it, remember it. It made him feel fractionally more comfortable knowing that he might be able to catch a piece of that sensation this time. Inevitably, it ran through his fingers just like the first time. He had thrown up that first time and in a panic he had tried to hold it in and catch it before it hit the floor. Inevitably, it ran through his fingers.
As placements went, this wasn't the most terrible place he could be. It was secure, mostly warm, almost comfortable. But there was this itch in the back of his mind that he couldn't scratch. Mining was just so mind numbing. It was easy enough and he was making a fair amount to keep himself surviving out here. He just didn't feel like he was really doing anything. Like he was wasting this chance to make a difference in this ridiculous universe.
When he opened his eyes again he would always find that his body had re-taken control of his lungs and he was once more breathing normally. He would stand up, pull on his boots and go to work.
On his way to the mirror he switched the radio off and picked up the badge he kept next to the sink. It was something he had found a few years ago before he made the big move. It was faded and rusty and you could only just barely make out what it once had written upon it in bright red ink. Now the white background had become grey and the words had turned pink. But it still said those same four words. He read the badge again, and put it back next to sink, where he would find it tomorrow before he went out to work.
I love you dad.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)