Miir's Personal Log 1: The Giant Swirling Void of Death

Posted on 21 Jan 2014 @ 12:53am by Lieutenant Teth Miir
Edited on 22 Jan 2014 @ 5:48pm

669 words; about a 3 minute read

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Lieutenant Junior Grade Teth Miir's personal log, leave day nineteen, 2200 hours.

A few weeks ago I was given orders to transfer to the USS Galileo. I knew I would have a layover on Earth for five weeks. I figured I would use the time to relax and catch up with my family. My mother had taken time off and R'lra is about to give birth to my nieces any day now.

Instead I have spent much of my time counseling the Galileo's very troubled crew. I am understanding now why the requisitioned a second counselor.

The captain was recently rescued from the Borg collective. I had a brief discussion with him about it and my life has drastically changed since. I remember everything now, all of it. But trying to process it in sequence is like being hit with a flash grenade. It is so overpowering to mu senses that i cease to feel at all. I've been speaking to Dr. Carlisle but am uncertain as to how helpful it is.

I thought through some delusional method of reasoning that if I could remove the borg implants from my brain, then perhaps the memories would disappear as well. I even got a very well meaning Bolian doctor caught p in my plan

The surgery was unsuccessful. I am stuck with the implants indefinitely. I feel like they're haunted. I can feel the spirits of the dead civilizations who were assimilated to acquire the technology moving wordlessly through the unoccupied recesses of my mind.

In spite of the failure, Olsam is quickly becoming a close friend. He is the cheerful optimist when I am unable to be. He has been kind enough to "check in" on me regularly, though I get the impression he is concerned for my safety. I know I've given similar welfare checks to so many of my patients in the past. It just feels odd being on the receiving end of that again.

I keep having a dream every night. It feels completely real. All I can smell is blood and thick smoke and I'm being dragged through a long and lightless tunnel. Everything is silent save the sounds of footsteps and the scraping of the ground. At the end of the tunnel, I float above everyone, there are piles of bodies all around me and I'm thrown into one.

There are hooded figures, dressed in ancient emerald green robes of my home world. Some standing and chanting above a great vortex, swirling and ominous in the center of the ground. We are on some distant alien planet. I watch myself begin to decay, my hair and skin and muscle and sinew sloughing off to reveal a brittle skeleton, wired together and glowing an ethereal green. An as I look around, the corpses around my own start doing the same. Thousands of dead cyborgs, being dragged one by one and thrown into the abyss by the robed and hooded figures.

And somehow through all of this, it is apparent through subtext or some sort of internal monologue that the Federation is dead, all of our worlds lost. Turned to smoldering embers among the stars. Everyone I have ever known or loved, gone. I wake up in a panicked state of terror and despair.I suppose this is why I've not been sleeping well.

I generally am not one to self medicate, but I am doing what I can to make it stop. I have been doing some research in diphenhydramine and it's effects on REM sleep in certain humanoid brains. It hasn't been tested extensively on Caitians, but I am hopeful that I can perhaps stop the dreams from occurring entirely.

I have more appointments first thing in the morning. I just have to be myself, the reliable, impartial counselor. I have to act the part, even if I should really just be a patient at this point.

It's time to attempt another sleepless night in my bed. Until next time, computer. End log.

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