((Folks are free to respond. I don't mind a little clutter. OOC, of course, unless someone actually finds his journal. Which is on his ship.)) Entry 1 My therapist said I should start keeping a journal so that I would have a clearer sense of day-to-day continuity. I am not entirely sure what to write. Most every day here feels the same. I wake up, then I plant crops, or harvest crops, or tend to the crops that are between those two points in time. It isn't fair to complain, of course. This is a farming settlement. Most everyone here does the same. And unless a machine breaks down, I barely have to touch the crops. But this life is so monotonous that I often find myself wishing that a machine would break down. I thought about sabotaging the banana picker, once, but could not bring myself to carry through. Which is good. I would no doubt have been arrested. Entry 9 My jacket got ripped today. The sleeve was caught on a metal wire. I have spent the last hour trying to fix it just right. Thread of the right shade of green is expensive, as I have to order it from off world. I like it that way, though. I like getting things from off world. I hope the captain is doing well. She is the only memory I can clearly place from my childhood. Everything else blends together. A bright green jacket and an old harmonica both have a way of standing out. If I ever get lucky enough to leave this planet, maybe I can find and thank her. But probably not. I still don't know her name. I think that this journal is helping me. I feel a bit more grounded. But I still want to leave. Every day, I want to leave. Entry 84 My cousin vanished yesterday. Nobody knows where he went. Nobody told me that the MiniKnog took him. 'Nobody' knows a lot of things. Entry 116 I found a camera in my refrigerator this morning, nestled against the inner wall. I was surprised at this. The camera behind my clock already has an excellent view of my room, and the camera inside the ceiling light covers the same area that the fridge camera would show. And the fridge camera is barely hidden at all. I think it is a message. Probably "stop finding our cameras." Entry 129 A MiniKnog agent visited me today. He had small dark eyes and very thick hair. He wore a pistol, which was clearly outlined under his jacket. He told me I was one of the lucky citizens chosen to donate my body to the VEP. I kneed him in the groin, grabbed his gun, shot his leg, and ran. I didn't have time to take much with me, just this journal, my harmonica, and a couple pixels. And the gun. I wish I had remembered food. I didn't feel as frightened as I should have. My heart beat at an awful pace, but I just felt simplified. Each action came easily. I ran to the loading dock, where a grain transport ship was being refueled. I threatened the pilot at gunpoint. He gave me the access keys I needed. I took the ship. Autopilot has made up for the gaps in my knowledge. I managed to jump to the Alpha sector before the MiniKnog could send someone after me. The ship has tracking programs, of course. I'll need to get rid of them. Or the ship. For now, just being far enough away from the MiniKnog will have to suffice. I always wanted to do this. Not so violently, of course. Not usually. But I'm free now, and I can feel it. This ship's recycled air tastes cleaner and fresher than any that I ever breathed before. I'm never going back. Not even if it kills me. I need somewhere to hide.
Entry 130 I've managed to find accommodations on a planet called Tetanus. The air is loaded with dust, and everything else is coated with rust. The people here value privacy and freedom, and, it seems, will shelter those who need it. I even managed to find work as a miner. It's not glamorous, but I don't have many needs. I took part in a scavenging mission today. A group of us searched through an abandoned outpost for weaponry. It was painfully cold there. The trees had huge thorns along their trunks, presumably to keep the native fauna away. The trip went smoothly, and I earned a small but needed sum of pixels for it. Entry 131 People on Tetanus keep to odd schedules. I can never tell when a crowd will gather at the bar, or when that crowd will suddenly depart. Everyone here keeps busy, and almost everyone here seems to be in hiding. I suppose I fit in, in that sense. I have been hearing very strange things over the public radio waves. An apparent cultist has been terrorizing people on live broadcast. In addition to this, distress calls come at least twice a day. I have been unwilling to answer them thus far. The MiniKnog are, after all, searching for me.
Entry 132 It's been a while since I last wrote. Quite a few things have happened since then, most of them involving guns. I have decided that I do not like guns. Shortly after my last entry, I was attacked by a glitch in purple body armor. I was sitting beside the warp pad on Tetanus, playing my harmonica. The glitch warped down, and immediately held a gun to my head. It forced me to hand over my backpack, then warped away. It must have been disappointed that my pack only held clothes and food, because moments later, it came back down and started shooting at me. I was able to dive into an open sewer, but the glitch followed me. I lost my flashlight in the maze of tunnels when I tripped over an iron bar, but I was able to find my way to a stairwell. I shot the glitch when it tried to follow me down. I ran again, only to fall down a deep pit, at the bottom of which was some form of colossal creature whose bloody flesh formed a great cavern. The glitch followed, but, in that pitch-dark and odoriferous stomach, we lost sight of each other. Despite my injured shoulder, I was able to crawl out. I give credit to the many handholds provided by living flesh. My hands may never be clean again. Following that, I began to spend more time in New Chicago. There is a hospital quite near the main public warp pad. Unfortunately, this hospital is needed. Not just needed, needed. Violence is almost constant in New Chicago. I have now walked in on at least four different armed standoffs. Earlier today, two people were spear-fighting in the street. One Hylotl tried to trick then mug me, but I caught on quickly enough to threaten her with my gun. And I only got stabbed once, which is better than the five little bullets in the shoulder I got from the glitch. I must be improving. I did not ever want to practice this particular skill, but so it goes. Oh, also, Tetanus is gone, along with my room. And my job. On the upside, I've been playing a lot of music. And I've been making friends. Or at least acquaintances. Most of the people out here who don't threaten your life are quite nice. I think that I may just convert the secondary storage room on my ship to a bedroom, and sleep there instead of the ground. I have plenty of fuel, and simple needs. With the stars my destination, a ship makes a fine home. I've been picking up old radio signals beamed out years and years ago from the old human homeworld, may she rest in peace. It's easier than back in the settlement. There's less interference up here, and less need for secrecy. I heard a song, and some of the lyrics got stuck in my head, then turned around and around until they came out different. Across to New Chicago, across Alioth III, Across to Waterosa, home I'll never be Home in Beta Oswin, home in Antares Gamma Kaffaljidhma, home I'll never be, Home I'll never be.
