11.29
Life often leads us down the lonely road. With no care or concern for our own desires or wants or needs. Other times it is our actions that lead us to the lonely road and our sense of adventure that pushes us down it. I find the thing about the lonely road isn’t so much that you no one beside you, but that it is such a steep decline that often you don’t see a way back out. You just keep falling, falling falling, falling; down, down, down, down. No one ever sees the exit off the lonely road, they just keep their eyes fixed on the endless miles ahead. But I guess that’s just the way things work.
“End log entry.”
Martin lay across the lounge in his quarters overlooking the 3rd moon of Theta Antares VI, fate had left him to ponder himself and what he had made of himself and desire conflicted him to become the opposite. Of course to the unsespecting eye he could be seen as a Star Fleet Captain, a research director, a base commander, a man of science and one who looked to the future for a better tomorrow. It was a hard deception to live and one that conflicted his soul. A conflict that could have no resolution, no beginning point to say ‘that was it’ or ‘it started there’.
The often lonely nights were to blame for his mind wandering, R.I.T. was a quite base at the best of times. It was easy to keep to yourself and no-one would notice until you made a sound. It was home to too many minds all caught up in their own world of thinking to see past their work. The peripheral, like the wandering eye were an ironic neglection from the occupants who cased their life to looking around and considering the alternative to make a solution; not that Martin could complain. In a year not one person had noticed his private doings, his non-fleet related dealings; thankfully.
Letting out a sigh, martin got out of his slump and push past the mess on the floor of his quarters toward his replicator, “Coffee, white with vanilla extract.” With that a cup matirialized on the replicator, it was warm and the vanilla extract smell filled the room quickly, it was Martin’s favorite drink and often called his ‘thinking drink’; this was because of a typical pace up and down his quarters. But this was not today, Martin just made his way back to his lounge and conceded to himself, “There probably is a way out, but I in it too far and any step backwards would just probably set off an alarm. Atleast I have you,” looking at his cup, “you always seem to replicate there to comfort me yet you never tell me that talking to an inanimate object is the first sign of a delusional mind.”