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// Freedom is Subjective 
// Story: 10 days 
// by GlazenDew 
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Freedom is Subjective



I know who I am, yet I don't know my identity. I stand by my beliefs, but I can hardly count on anything else. Maybe that's why I forgot my name. Everyone who needed to know it either died or abandoned me when I needed them the most. I don't need them, any of them. If I have a will and some bits, that is. Both are accounted for, and I'm off. To the Ura falls- for good. At least being unloved has some benefits. You don't have to inform anyone when you plan to drop off the face of the earth.
Now that I think about it, I really don't know what's going to happen when I get there. I mean, I know what's going to happen (I'll get off, tip the capt., get some real food and such), but I don't know what will become of me in the long run. I might farm, I might fish, I might hermit, I may die. When you get to be my age, you learn to take everything day by day. You have to live with yourself for the next 24 hours, yet you can't acknowledge any remorse you may have, for that only weighs down on your shoulders. So am I regretful for my actions against the other races back in the day? I don't know. Living in my own world, I can stay the way I am. I don't need to change, as nothing outside can affect me unless our worlds directly cross. And they finally have. On this damned ship.
In all my years in my self-made bubble, I didn't have to think about it. Society was miles above me, and I kept it there. Maybe I was scared of facing them for my actions. Maybe I was scared of the change. Maybe I was scared of remembering myself.
This could be my gateway. My bubble... Do I still want it? Yes. I've gone too far this way to turn back. Even if I was going to challenge my belief, I don't think I could end up forgiving them for what they did to us. To me.