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+--- Thread: Notes of a Wingless Eagle (// Closed) (/showthread.php?tid=128525)
Notes of a Wingless Eagle (// Closed) - Jam - 04-16-2015
16th April 822 A.S., Planet New London, late evening.
Yeah, what a desperate way of a desperate fellow to start a journal. The name's Mark Hughes, and I'm a nerd, even though you can't see it. You'll have to trust me on that, even though I know it's going to be hard for anyone who'd actually read these words.
It's a yet another boring day on New London. Everyone seems to be just dull, lifeless. As if someone has been vacuuming the morale out of just everyone. *sighs* Including me. Well, such is war. War isn't just on the frontlines, war is everywhere, in every city, in every house and every soul. Because think: Why have we been building our lives, contemplating our future as every child does when this damn war will relentlessly flush it all away?
Well, I'm not that young, 32 years old. My life is pretty much built already. I graduated from the Bretonian Technical University - not the best one around, but it was the best me and my family could finance. So yeah, I'm officially an engineer. And now I'm selling sweets in a random shop somewhere on New London. So much for 3 years of studying. Oh yes, my life's couldn't be better. But at least I can sleep somewhere where it doesn't get wet from the almost constant rain. Something I could call home, though I don't want to. My home has always been somewhere else. But then the war happened, and so I'm here.
Though I'm not here to complain. Or am I? Why do people even write journals? Just for fun or to vent their frustration from life? Right, I guess the latter applies more to me. Okay, I actually am here to complain. Bear with me please, dear journal. To be completely honest, I'm not happy. I mean, I'm not depressed, but not overly happy either. Think, Mark, think.
Too damn tired to think. Bedtime.
RE: Notes of a Wingless Eagle (// Closed) - Jam - 04-17-2015
Mark Hughes, 17th April 822 A.S., Planet New London
And here we go, I'm one day closer to death again. Nothing special happened today I guess. Spent the entire day at the shop, as always. There weren't a lot of customers for quite some time, which is alarming. My boss has already mentioned closing the business, which would be the end the line for me. No job, no way to pay the rents, no way to live. And being homeless on New London is the last thing anyone wants.
When I was going home, something struck me. I realized I wouldn't exactly be homeless. I happen to own a ship, a spaceship. Though maintaining that crap costs a hella lot of cash. I've learnt to fly in my early adulthood, against my dad's wishes. He'd discourage me from going into space, for it hides a lot of danger. I can't disagree with that. My dad would discourage me from anything that was anyhow connected to the military. He'd say military is for the losers. And I am a broke loser, so he has a point.
I've been thinking about this option for some time. Since I already hold a pilot's license, I'd definitely enroll for the Bretonia Armed Forces as a pilot. It would be a brilliant escape but... I don't know. I'm scared of sudden death. At first it's a desperate struggle for survival, and later a great responsibility. No, I don't think I am ready for that. Definitely not with my current ship. I'm not going anywhere with that five-cent garbage. Not until I lose my job, or get a better ship... somehow.
On the other news, my music player broke. What a luck.
Right, I'm writing too much, dear journal. I'll give you a break now. Off I go to decide what to do with this evening.
RE: Notes of a Wingless Eagle (// Closed) - Jam - 04-19-2015
Mark Hughes, 18th April 822 A.S., Planet New London
Well, guess what. I forgot to write an entry yesterday. I guess I was too busy rambling about my boss being a pain in somewhere. He's been weird lately, and I know why. I know the business is about to get closed, he doesn't have to attempt to hide that from anyone.
Which brought me here. I have to do something. If I lose my job before I have an alternative laid out, I'm going to be in a real trouble. That's why I'm looking to the skies. I could fly out there and try to join a convoy, or some miners. I could actually get some money from that, which would be great. That sounds like a plan indeed, though a bit - I don't know... unrealistic? I mean, if I'd imagine myself as a leader of a convoy and a random loser in a five-cent ship comes by asking to join in, I'd probably chase him off with all the plasma I'd have. Hah, well okay. Perhaps not plasma, but... everybody gets the point.
My dad would've been proud of me if I managed to mark my name as a respected leader. My mom also, for sure, though... I don't even know who she is. Such is my luck you see. I've never known my mother, and my father left me on this world alone. But he was a good father. May the heavens treat him well.
Oh, I fell in love. Not with a girl though. It's a fighter. The Paladin. Damn, I'm so in love with that thing. Once I'll be able to, that's the ship I'm getting. From what I've just read it's fast, agile, and is able to deliver quite a punch. And also it's less bulky than the Templar.
What am I even writing about? Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, mate.
RE: Notes of a Wingless Eagle (// Closed) - Jam - 04-20-2015
Mark Hughes, 20th April 822 A.S., Planet New London
Bretonia, my love. What is with you? First the Kusari, now the Gal-, excuse me, frogs are all over the place.
I've read the horrible news. Fifty Bretonian soldiers, pilots and marines, were executed by the Gallics. It struck me hard, you know. It's like... you're busy with taking care of your own survival that you forget what is going on around you. And then at one point the reality smashes right through your face, and you realize your homeland is actually seriously threatened. Your home, your freedom, independence, pride. How can I just watch?
I made my decision. I'll apply for the Armed Forces as soon as possible. I'm going to lose my job anyway, and I have no other plan to go around with. I am a broke loser. My dad had a point. I might be scared of sudden death, but what it that compared to the will to defend my homeland? Dad, I know you've never wanted me to become a soldier, but Bretonia needs me. I'm sorry to let you down, even though you probably don't care right now. I'll go to the shop to leave a note for my boss before I get too sappy.
I'll write one final entry when I return.
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Mark Hughes, 20th April 822 A.S., Planet New London
Done. I'm leaving this hole. My boss will understand, I'm sure.
This journal is short, but it did help me to decide what to do with my life. For that I'm grateful.
Now, don't stress, Mark. You're going to walk into the recruitment office, have a little chit-chat with an officer, and everything is going to be just fine. After all, you know everything about the Armed Forces, the Fleet Admiral, the flagship, the fleets, ships... You'll be fine. You will. Be brave. For the first time in your life.
Time to go.
Let's hope I'll get to live longer than a month.