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The Final Entries of Dr. Merd
by
Daniel W. Kneip
-- Entry #47 -- Januaria, 21, 3047
There shall be, not now, nor ever, any excuse made by I, Dr. Whillow T. Merd,
regarding the sudden curtailment of journal entries to date save this one: I've
suffered severe unnatural aches in my hand and have not been satisfactorilly
able to write, or even jot for that matter, a single letter until this very
morning when, for some reason miraculous, the pain subsided.
Furthermore, the computers have terminated themselves and I hardly care that the
crew hasn't returned my calls.
I only write now to update what I shall never forget, in all my days sequestered
on this space station.
I established OHT (since I am able now, I will spell it out.. Odyssical
Horticultural Therapy) with a robust selection of seeds ranging from the known
to the unknown to the don't-want-to-know. Funny how every aspect of life, of a
species, is catagorised this way.
Upon concept, the results certified all initial hopes that I or any other
scientist could have conceived. For example, in dead-light, the sorrel schiavel
grew roots so thin, I eventually used them as floss after purposely renesting
the plant.
Sadly, of my inspired selections, including the arduous beetroot carillion, the
burpees silverbacks and the adroit detroit twelve, none managed the confines of
the artificial surroundings and "space-air"; I had a generalised hunch they
would collapse.
And just as I pen this, a driven sensation in my hand occurs and I am dreading
another attack! For continuities sake alone, I will finish my thoughts.
After finally thirty days, I am, alarmedly, down to my final four seedlings and
fear natural plant-life in space is but a dream.
Most intriguing that these remaining four are of the commoners variety - Madari
Houseplants. In a quasi-lone chamber, B-34J, I've grown these robust and lively
houseplants. With leaves dashed with a multi-toned green hue quite reminiscent
of plasma, the plants, all sectored, have persisted despite all ills, to this
point.
Yet, dare I say, under the strain of the weeks come and gone, Plant B-95 is
dead. Botanical fatigue syndrome. My disappointment is intense and I am
beginning to loathe this place.
And now, I must go ice my hand and break the sadly dreadful news to the other
plants.
-Dr. Whillow T. Merd
--Entry #48 -- Junuaro, 28, 3047
Not a week to the date from my earlier entry, which took every ounce of whit I
could scare up, I, Dr. Merd, have more grave news, and isn't it a right pity to
be learning of only the failures of this damnable operation?
Then I will report sweet news as a compliment: Plants B-73, B-22 and J-00 are
well, received the departure of B-95 with ease and I have run a fever with
optimism for their longevity.
The bad news is that the pangs of misery linger in my hand at incessant
intervals - this anguished, cruel sting of discomfort is there NO PEACE??!
--Entry #49 -- Janururi, 36, 3047
Plant B-22 is dead. Hydro-gelatanic causes, I think. I buried it today. Other
plants not looking so good. Torturous pain in hand worsens and all remedies are
exhausted save one.
--Entry #50 -- Jannr.. 37, 3047
Chopped off hand. Hoping against hope new one grows back! Plants OK.
--Entry #51 -- Jarnry, 42, 3047
Have been practising writing with left hand alot Plant B-73 is dead and I ate it
and am about to kill Plant J-00 just for kicks I hope anyone to read this will
know I'm gone too funny in the head Send help.
- Dr. Merd
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