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The Final Entries of Dr. Merd


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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