Notes of a Wingless Eagle (// Closed)

[Jam]

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.

---

[10:46:32] Wolfs Ghost (Murphy): And actually, the KU Dessie is the best GB.
[19:29:19] Joseph (Aphil): SCRA|CPW-Capitalism.

Admiral John Clay - Retired and dead *sadface*