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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1170565-Log--703-206082-376
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Sci-fi · #1170565
My First writing.com submission: A Mysterious person recounts his alienation
Light shines through the viewport, sending reflections scattering across the dull metal room. A hiss, the door opens. The new light does little to dispel the shadows present. Clink, Clink. Boots clink across the hard floor. The figure entered, letting the door close behind him. Turning to a blank computer terminal on a desk next the viewport, he growls.
“Computer On.”
Start up command received. Voice ID confirmed. Logging in.
“Open log”
Command: Open Log received, Logbook initialized.
“New Log, Dictation mode”
Command: Open new log file received. Entry mode: Voice. Awaiting start command.
“Begin”
Microphone on. Ready for input.

User: Luke Geseman
Log Entry Date: 05/12/10
Log ID 703-206082-376
Log: It’s gone, destroyed by, well, no one’s really sure who to blame, did we bring it on ourselves? Or were the Mahreni responsible? That’s part of the problem, if we all knew it was our fault, well then we’d seek a way to atone for our sins. If the Mahreni did it, well then we’d probably end up looking for a way to make them atone. Trouble is we don’t know. People are fighting over this, I think about a dozen have died. As always I find myself taking the middle ground, we screwed up and they took advantage. Anyway you split it; nobody wanted the Earth to be destroyed. Ok, maybe not destroyed, again we’re not sure, but we’re not gonna live on it anytime soon.

Now to the point, current situation is that we’re screwed, we’ve got no idea where we are, no clue as to where we’re going, few supplies and a large group of very unhappy people, crammed together on a barely functioning ship that was supposed to hold half the number of people it is. Add that to the shock of losing our homes, and leave it to simmer for a few weeks. Result: Pandemonium with little law, no order, and a crew that’s more on edge than the passengers.

And then we get into the whole debate about whether we, the ones humanity owes its life to, even count as people. It figures, you’re walking along one day, perfectly happy, then you go and get yourself infected to some strange virus, and suddenly you’re not human anymore. Wanna know what the kicker is? We made the virus; I guess it goes to show that genetic manipulation really was a bad idea. But naturally politics and greed won over, I should know, I thought it was a good idea myself. But fiddling with stem cells and GM crops, you know the average tomato contains around 50,000 genes, and they’ve all got to be perfectly combined, or else who knows what will happen.

But yeah, only a few people actually were altered, most died. I’m ‘lucky’ I lived through it, something about young cells still reproducing. Knew I should’ve taken Biology at school.

Whatever the reason, now I walk through the corridors and get stares, or people trying to avoid staring, it’s been a couple of weeks and I’m still alien enough for them to treat me differently. Last week I gave up trying to fit in again, and have taken to being more reclusive. This probably hasn’t help matters, but I don’t care anymore. And just think, I’m handling this better than the others, especially Tamara. She always was a very outgoing person. I didn’t have many friends to begin with, amazing how sheer taste can alienate you. Okay so maybe I was a little different, watching kid’s shows like Transformers and Power Rangers, but I never expected that would steer people clear of me. I figured they would make an attempt to understand, that’s what I do, one of my friends annually cuts a pattern in his arms, and then pours vinegar in the cuts. ‘Meh’ is what I say. Simply put I’ve felt pretty isolated most of my life. Now I really am. It’s not my fault, but it’s happened anyway. To everyone I’m different, an alien, a stranger. I might as well be a Martian, from a completely different planet, than a guy who was like them.

That felt good, getting it all off my chest. It’s healthy to let it all out every now and then. Better go grab some food before the mess’s packed.

Log End


“Close log, Shutdown terminal”
Exiting Log. Initiating power down procedures
“Sometimes, it really feels like I’m a Martian,” The figure sighed. He turned and left the room in the same twilight it started in, tail waving between his legs.
© Copyright 2006 Mechaman (mechaman at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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