NAVIGATOR'S LOG 1
He took a brief moment before taking seat in front of his terminal. He was watching outside, through the glass, to the infinite void behind the pressurized glass of his studio. His reflection -that of a tired and battle-tested man- greeted him, from the crystal. The time that he had spent on that ship had looked like an eternity for him, especially since last year, when everything started going down the sewer for the Revolution. -I was not even part of this...- Finally, he sat and started to type on the virtual keyboard that had just appeared on top of the wood of the desk. The greenish faint light from said keyboard illuminated the room, giving a sense of mistery to an otherwise ordinary studio.
The void enveloped her, and threw her into itself. She was floating in what appeared to be the absolute vacuity. If the "Nothing" could have had a name, it was hers. All her life and memories passed before her eyes, or what she felt were her eyes. It was not like the movies, where you have a chronological sequence of events, but a random flow of images, smells, sounds.
There were her first day at Pre-K, and at the same time the occassions in which she was bonded. The day she tasted liquor for the first time and the night in which she tried the juice. Her teen self was her very same child self and adult self. She started losing the concept of time, not knowing how much has been in that state. A voice started to sound, faintly...
A young man, in his late twenties or early thirties, was leaning against the bar, in the ship's cantina. He was wearing a white, sweated T-shirt, black cargo pants, an ammo belt and a pistol on his right side. He was a blond caucasian, medium built, not particularlu buff, but it was evident that he had made a lot of exercise lately. It contrasted a lot with his face riddled with freckles and his slightly big ears, which gave him a faintly goofy look to him. His face, a bit elongated, harboured two brown eyes, half close because of sadness.
A half-empty glass of Scotch rested near his right hand, which in turn was holding a very cherished photograph. He had been contemplating the same old photo, day after day, every evening after the missions, since that fateful afternoon, seven years ago.
My first take at something rather dark at KP universe.