The Unappealing Journal of Sigbert Ross

Discussion in 'Diaries & Captain's Logs' started by crumchy, Mar 11, 2021.

  1. crumchy

    crumchy pet food taster Silver Donator

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    // Upon immediate inspection, the book one would find is faux leather-bound, with the name “Sigbert Ross” scribbled in permanent marker, smudged. The collection of bound papers is messy, but lovingly tied together with a golden thread puncturing the canvas spine. Some pages have been ripped out, others have been drawn on in crude pencilwork, and skipped entirely. //
     
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  2. crumchy

    crumchy pet food taster Silver Donator

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    //Day 1//


    The expedition was a failure. My attempts to find my own place in the world have been dashed and, in an ironic way, I’m dying alone. Just like I wanted. The universe has its own sense of humor I suppose. The universe doesn’t seem to understand me and what I want, but then again I can’t seem to decipher what it wants out of me. People are horrible. I despise them. But what divinity is out there seems to smile upon them. And… What is out there seems to frown upon me. I’ll never forget what you’ve done to me, universe. I may not be able to make you regret it, but I can at least spit in your face. Nobody accepts me, not even you. I hate you. Existence is futile in this state, anyway. I may as well be a vegetable. Still my consciousness persists, though.


    I should feel pain, but I don’t. Where I once saw my life as a prison, I am now literally trapped, obviously the result of some divine comedy. My legs lay before me, crushed by the ceramic composite of my own ship. My arms are free but I am a weak man. I cannot lift the rubble from myself and I don’t have what it takes to remove my legs. All that was recognizable around me after impact was this book. Should I be found in this sea of fog, somebody ought to know what happened. Environmental storytelling has hardly a following out in this part of space, I think. Nobody will find me though, because nobody would care enough to look for me. People are horrible like that. If people mourn that which they value most… Why is it my heart still bleeds for the most strange strangers? I suppose now is as good a time to reflect on my life-- it should be flashing before my eyes any time now.


    They came out of nowhere. Though I don’t think I expected anything else from the fringe. What is such a telling sign of wealth as a subcorvette slowly lowering into a planet of green? I have nothing to my name. They were foolish to come for me. I wonder where they went. Maybe they turned back when they saw smoke. Too risky, probably. Space pirates, though. I think I’d make a good one. I like space. And I’m sure I’ll have a big bushy beard by the time I starve out here. Or get eaten by one of the whatevers that lurks in the fog. I can hardly see four feet in front of me. Me, me, me. All I talk about is me. How I feel. I’m a self-centered pig. But can that be so wrong when faced with solitary annihilation?


    Coming to terms with my death is much easier than I gave it credit for. I always heard about people who regret everything they did up to then, but really, my life has just been a lukewarm slurry of boredom. Do you think I’ll be reincarnated as a mouse, or bug for my being a waste of oxygen? I think I will. What is the point of living if you fail to leave an impact on what’s around you? Ironic, given the literal impact site I find myself in. I wish I’d done more. That seems clichéd. If someone ever finds this and publishes it into a book, please remove this paragraph. I ate the eraser off my pencil so I can’t get rid of it.
     
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  3. crumchy

    crumchy pet food taster Silver Donator

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    //Day 2//


    Somehow, through the fog today, I saw something. A figure. In the distance, a pool of black piqued my distance. Upon squinting I found legs, and arms! Was it a person? I know this universe is inhabited by both people and animals with those traits. I would know, considering I’m one of them. Still, though, they ignored me. I dared not call out their name for fear it was a beast. I’d like to die here peacefully, thank you very much. I don’t take myself for a brute and I’ve always been called a little sensitive. I hated that denomination. Is it so wrong to feel, to have a bleeding heart? I’d say that makes me a superior individual when it comes to certain parts of life. Maybe in many.


    //An illustration of a graphite-grey splotch with what appears to be four appendages can be seen, as well as the split lead of a pencil lodged in the page. From here the color of the text has shifted to an inky black.//


    I am tempted to t̶a̶l̶k̶ a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ m̶y̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶ fall into the trap of talking about myself again. Not quite about my mindset but rather who I am. As a real person. Sometimes I look into my books and seem to fail to discern fact from fiction. I don’t only think of fantastic characters as real people, but occasionally I mistake a real person, from an autobiography or a memoir, for a fantastic character. It never crosses me that I live in the same state of existence as them. Or if I used to, if they’re dead. If you’re reading this that’ll be the case. B̶u̶t̶ s̶o̶m̶e̶ p̶e̶o̶p̶l̶e̶ d̶o̶n̶’t̶ r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ s̶e̶e̶ i̶t̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ w̶a̶y̶. empathize in the same way I do. Maybe I’m no different from Steve Jacker from Midnight Jacker to you. He’s horribly characterized. So I’ll tell you exactly what you want to think of me.

    I̶’m̶ S̶i̶g̶b̶e̶r̶t̶ R̶o̶s̶s̶, b̶u̶t̶ y̶o̶u̶ k̶n̶e̶w̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶. I̶t̶’s̶ l̶i̶t̶e̶r̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ o̶n̶ t̶h̶e̶ c̶o̶v̶e̶r̶. B̶u̶t̶ I̶ d̶o̶n̶’t̶ k̶n̶o̶w̶ i̶f̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶’l̶l̶ s̶t̶i̶c̶k̶ a̶r̶o̶u̶n̶d̶ s̶i̶n̶c̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ m̶a̶t̶e̶r̶i̶a̶l̶ d̶o̶e̶s̶n̶’t̶ r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ h̶o̶l̶d̶ m̶a̶r̶k̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ f̶o̶r̶ v̶e̶r̶y̶ l̶o̶n̶g̶. H̶a̶v̶e̶ y̶o̶u̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ t̶r̶i̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ d̶r̶a̶w̶ o̶n̶ r̶a̶w̶h̶i̶d̶e̶?̶ I̶t̶’s̶ n̶o̶t̶ e̶a̶s̶y̶. I̶t̶ s̶o̶u̶n̶d̶s̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ a̶n̶ o̶l̶d̶ m̶a̶n̶ n̶a̶m̶e̶ b̶u̶t̶ I̶’m̶ a̶c̶t̶u̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ s̶i̶x̶t̶e̶e̶n̶. T̶h̶a̶t̶’s̶ i̶t̶, m̶o̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ o̶n̶. I̶ s̶a̶w̶ s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶ a̶n̶d̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶’s̶ f̶r̶a̶n̶k̶l̶y̶ m̶o̶r̶e̶ i̶m̶p̶o̶r̶t̶a̶n̶t̶.

    A branch rustled, from a tree untouched by the wreckage. I nearly ceased breathing altogether until I realized it was a tiny animal. A friend. Well, not for long. You don’t want to know what happened to it, trust me. But the presence of a small animal is worrying. I know about food chains, I was at school for more than five minutes. And this place definitely doesn’t look like the kind with an unstable ecosystem. I might be screwed if something bigger than me comes around. Interaction, though! If there’s a little bug that comes around I’ll try to trap it in my hand. Gods know I need a little companionship, even if unintelligent.
     
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  4. crumchy

    crumchy pet food taster Silver Donator

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    //Day 3//


    The insects here were especially flavorful. When one came near I stabbed it with my pencil. More came to me to avenge their friend’s death but I kept stabbing them. I made a kebab out of their bodies and, after some time of deliberation, ate them. As it crunched between my teeth, I expected to spit it back up with time, but that was only true for their shells. The bug meat was rich, and had a strong ammonia-adjacent taste. My mind must have been playing tricks on me. Bugs? Tasting edible? What had happened to me that I had become so desperate that I thought a bug was a fine meal? Survival truly warps the mind of men, as I found myself craving more. But none came, for I killed them all.


    Who knew that, after only two days, I would be saved? Luck is a fickle beast, I suppose, only kicking in when you truly need it. Sure, my legs have been turned to glorified dust wrapped in a layer of meat, and I’m sure I’m missing a few pieces I should probably have, but I’m still willing to harbor enough optimism to say that I’m quite sure that I’ll be able to see my next day, even if the next day. However, I foresee said next day as consisting of much staring at walls, stuck in a bed and waiting out the days until I can return to normalcy. I suppose I should be thankful but the future looks dim; overlaid with a tint of darkness. Eventually, however, the light at the end of the tunnel will shine through and I am sure I will be thankful for all that has come to pass. Things tend to work out in my life enough that I wonder if I have a guardian angel.


    The figure in the fog had come again, and I, reinvigorated by my snack from earlier, shouted out for help. The grey frame in the distance disappeared for a moment, and I cried. Embarrassing, but it would seem my act of pitiful expression would be my savior. The figure faded back in and extended from the fog. It was a furry creature on two legs with a tail, as well as a pouch. A person, one of the intelligent denizens of the galaxy, and in that moment I felt my faith in the divinity of the universe flow back into me. Perhaps it was due to my isolation for these two days but this individual who extended their hand and dug me out was among the most lovely I’d known, ever. They were small, but strong, and graceful. In fact, after I was carried back to their home and left to rest while they left me alone, I still couldn’t stop thinking about them. I’m still not. I rushed to write this entry simply to talk about them. Oh, people. How could I have thought to forsake you when you have been so kind now to me? In the coming days I hope to see them more, while I recover. They frankly can’t be any worse than home and I have yet to introduce myself. Maybe they will do what they do in movies and raise me as one of their own.